


Games

by Catherine_Medici



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, D/s, Dubious Consent, Edge Play, F/M, Non-Consensual, Public Humiliation, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Medici/pseuds/Catherine_Medici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red and Lizzie explore domination and submission while on the run. Both struggle against their natures, both wanting something of the other. (Warning for BDSM and D/s themes. New warning for themes of abuse and non con.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this fic. So patient with me ;)

He sat comfortably, legs crossed, scotch in hand, in the armchair he had dragged across the room to the foot of the bed. It wasn't a particularly large room but the bed was soft and the company...

Well...

He listened as the sounds of Lizzie preparing for bed in the bathroom ceased. The door opened and she appeared in the doorway, a towel snugly wrapped around her body. Her hair was damp and combed back, her eyes lit upon him questioningly. She waited.

He hadn't meant to do it--to give into this weakness--but she had made it so incredibly hard to refuse. She'd been so sorry, hot tears falling onto her cheeks, she'd twined her arms about his neck and whispered brokenly into his ear. She'd ruined her own life and his, she'd said. She'd been so stubborn and willful, so sure she was right.

It hadn't helped that part of him agreed with her. Why, why did she do it? He could have worked with what he had when it was only the charges she was innocent of. But she had done what she wanted and he didn't think he could fix this, a murder she was guilty of. He could only get her out, continue to protect her and find a new life for her that would be some sort of solace for what she had thrown away.

She'd agreed with everything he'd said. Following along, subdued and quiet, she'd made no complaints when he stowed her in the most uncomfortable of safe houses, when he'd driven them day and night across state borders without rest. Every so often, she'd plead with him to forgive her. He'd sidestepped her attempts at making things right between them. Too angry, too disappointed. He'd become so used to the indignant, slightly sour Lizzie of the past two years, that he didn't know quite what to do with new facet of her personality. 

He hadn't been sure of what to make of these strange twinges her new behavior pulled from him either. His desire to control her had always been there. He had easily justified it before though. He just wanted her safe, protected, happy. All the things he did without her knowledge were for her benefit. Even so, he had been satisfied every time she pushed back, every time she raged at him for his interference. She had been a force to be reckoned with and it was a thrill to deal with her volatile energy.

But now, there was a different sort of thrill. He'd tried to resist it. Distancing himself from her, replying less and less to her pleas, not even bothering to sidestep anymore. But she'd become more dejected and unhappy. 

He looked at her now, her body framed by the light in the bathroom as she stood quietly in the doorway, waiting for a signal.

"Take your towel off and kneel in the middle of the bed, palms facing outward on your knees," He instructed her in a steady, low voice.

She placed her towel tidily on the rack in the bathroom. She'd let it carelessly fall once before onto the floor, learning the hard way that he liked neatness, he wouldn't tolerate sloppiness. Her crimson bottom later that night had been a reminder she hadn't forgotten.

She moved to the bed, gracefully bending and shifting herself into the position he'd asked of her. Her skin glowed pale in the half light of the bedside lamp. She knelt quietly, patiently, her eyes fixed on his face, waiting for his next instruction.

He let her wait. Slowly he finished his scotch, maintaining eye contact with her. He shifted his hips, the heat of this silent exchange was becoming almost palpable. He felt desire surge in his belly, the familiar tinge of guilt along with it. She was so eager to please him, she practically vibrated with it.

He set his glass down, running his tongue along his lips, observing with satisfaction the way her body trembled with anticipation.

He hadn't fucked her. He'd punished her, toyed with her, but he hadn't put his mouth on her. Yet. 

This slow, torturous dance wasn't over.

“I want you to spread your legs and touch yourself, Lizzie. When you feel that you’re about to come, I want you to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed, tentatively reaching to stroke herself with her fingers. Such an incredibly intimate act to perform while gazing into his heavily lidded eyes. Her own eyes fluttered shut in response to the intensity of his stare. 

“Look at me.”

She popped her eyes open again, obeying him, a red stain flushing her cheeks. He felt a rush of exhilaration as he held her gaze.

His hand lazily wandered to his trousers. Without breaking eye contact, he unzipped himself and moved a hand across the hardness growing in his pants. Reaching under the waistband he freed himself from the confined space of his trousers, lightly stroking up and down his length, his shallow, fast breathing in concert with her own ragged breaths.

He raked his gaze from her luminous, wide blue eyes to her open thighs, avidly enjoying the sight of her hand massaging her clit in slow, languorous circles, her body making little shuddering movements as she pleasured herself.

His mind drifted to the first time he had played this little game with her. It had been a night just like this one in another hotel room. They’d silently readied themselves for bed, taking turns in the bathroom. She’d come into his room to sit beside him on his bed. He had tensed, preparing himself for more apologies, more declarations of regret. He’d been so frustrated. He’d told her what was done was done. Apologies weren't necessary. He didn’t know what to do with this timorous, weeping girl. Why couldn't she push back at him? She was so much stronger than this and he was tired of keeping a check on himself for fear of hurting her.

“Lizzie, what do you want from me that would make you feel better? A spanking?” He’d asked her in annoyance. 

She’d paused, a crackle of some indefinable energy had passed between them at his words. “If it would help, then yes, sure,” she’d said carefully.

He was a cautious man, a thoughtful one. But he didn’t think at all that time. That pause, and her response had electrified him. Desire lanced through him as he pulled her body over his lap. He shivered as he remembered now, how she’d given a small cry of surprise. But she hadn’t resisted. He’d pulled her sleep shorts and panties down her legs, revealing her deliciously rounded bottom. 

Experimentally, he’d bought his hand down on her creamy white ass cheek in a short, stinging, open palmed slap. She’d responded with a sharp intake of breath. He'd repeated it, harder and faster, his spanks punctuated with her gasps. 

"Do you want this Lizzie?" He'd grated out as she wiggled in his lap.

"Yes...please...please," she’d begged.

“Tell me why? Why do you want this?” He had growled, raising his hand higher, spanking quivering flesh that was fast turning a rosy pink.

“I deserve it,” she’d whimpered. “And R-Red… It feels so good!”

It had gone on for several minutes more, she had sobbed and twisted in his lap, she hadn't been able to keep still at all. He’d eventually hooked her flailing legs behind his right leg, putting an end to most of her squirming. She’d continued to beg wantonly, pleading for him to keep going and it was outrageous what her trembling cries were doing to him. 

When he’d stopped, they were both shaking and panting. He’d smoothed his hands in circles along her reddened flesh. She’d been so hot. His palm had stung but he barely noticed, so consumed by the rush of arousal, by the sickening thrill of...control. 

He wished many times since that night that she hadn't allowed it. He couldn’t help himself. He had wanted her overwhelmingly since the day he saw her walk down those stairs towards him in the box. 

And she was letting him. He knew it was dangerous, even unhealthy. He couldn't stop. She had opened herself to him, an invitation to take and he had taken, plundered. 

He’s asked her every night since: “Lizzie, do you want this? Do you like it when I do this?”

Each time she responds: “Yes, please Red,” her mouth curving into a smile.

He wanted something to push against. He needed to know where her boundaries lay. But every time he gently probed, he fell into a well of no resistance. It gnawed at him. He knew how far he was capable of taking her. It frightened him. 

So he was back to acting cautiously.

He watched her now, flushed and trembling, so close to the edge, dipping her fingers into her wet folds, swirling her slick index finger into herself, pressing her thumb lightly against her clit. 

She gasped loudly, her hips jerking. Reluctantly, she drew her hand away from herself, lips parted, her blush spreading down her neck and to her collarbone. She looked at him imploringly.

He smiled. “Ready to come Lizzie?”

“Yes, please,” she moaned desperately 

“Not yet.”

The corners of her mouth turned down slightly.

“Come here.”

She came to him. Stood in front of him, trembling.

“Kneel.”

She dropped to her knees, her trembling still evident. Was this a limit? He had to be sure. He cupped her face with one hand, the other still fisted around his cock. His thumb stroked her cheek.

“Lizzie?” he asked again, as with every night. “Do you want this?”

“Yes, please Red,” she said, leaning into his caress.

Something in his belly tightened. He was disgusted with himself. But she was playing into every vice he owned. He hadn’t acknowledged it to himself ever, even when she’d accused him of being obsessed with her. She’d been his blind spot. But he was beginning to see.

Just how far could he take this? 

“I want you to take me into your mouth.”

She glanced up at him, her lashes framing those blue eyes. 

She leaned in and licked his cock from the base to the tip. His breath hitched. She took him into her mouth then, the wet heat of her swirling tongue drawing a groan from him. He let his fingers tangle themselves in her hair, cradling the back of her head, guiding her pace, thrusting a little with his hips.

His focus closed in on her. Silky hair, soft lips, the scent of her soap.

His nostrils flared, all his nerve endings were on fire. He wanted more of her. Wanted to do depraved things to her. She would let him. She had let him. He tightened his grip in her hair involuntarily, as he felt a sweet ache swell in his balls. He thrust into her mouth harder and faster as she gagged on his cock.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear: "Swallow, Lizzie, then you can come."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to the reader: You should always agree to a safe word well before any humiliation play such as being told what to wear or forced public nudity/partial nudity. Red should know better. But this is fantasy.
> 
> Remember, if it ain't fun, you're doing it wrong.

"The clothing I’ve chosen for you tonight is laid out on the bed," he mentioned casually as they stepped into the already occupied elevator.

She said nothing, her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment and a tiny thread of arousal fluttered through her.

So strange, the pleasure she felt in his company now. For so long she'd clawed at this feeling in her chest, this desire to submit to his guidance. She'd hated herself, mistrusted him and his intentions. Fearful of how vulnerable these feelings made her, she'd used every ounce of her natural independence and wariness to keep him at bay.

She used to wake up with tension in her belly, shadowy dreams of betrayal dogging her footsteps. Now she woke up with a different sort of tension. She couldn't place the feeling. She thought about it quite a lot. Her profiler’s mind assessing herself, her motivations, the things that drove her.

She didn't understand herself at all these days.

Oh, she understood what she wanted, just not why.

She wanted Red, wanted him to want her as badly as she did him, wanted to please him, make him look at her the way he had the first day she’d laid eyes on him. The closest she'd felt to this before was her senior year of college. She'd fallen hard for one of her professors. He'd been difficult to impress but she'd been his best student. She'd been smitten. He was so warm, engaging and charismatic but he still had held her at arm's length. She recalled her humiliation when he'd rebuffed her advances.

It had taken her a while to put that experience behind her. And now...Red. Her feelings about their relationship made her previously vivid memory of her twisted crush on the professor seem pale and faded.

She had been terrified that she’d broken whatever they had built over the past two years. Broken it just as she’d come to realize how sure she was about what she felt for him.

She hadn’t known what she was asking really, with that first spanking. She’d thought it would be cathartic. Instead she’d been rocked by the eroticism of it, of Red wanting her. It was incredible. She’d felt him against her, lying across his lap like that, how could she not?

She was lovesick. A thought she buried quickly. Being in love with the Concierge of Crime was a terrifying thought.

She shivered with pleasure as he snaked a possessive arm firmly around her waist, guiding her out of the elevator to their suite.

 

* * *

 

He had allowed her the privacy of the bedroom in order to get ready for dinner. He was looking forward to her reaction when she discovered what she was wearing that night.

He didn't have to wait long.

She came barrelling out of the bedroom at full speed, holding a piece of gauzy black cloth in her arms.

“Red, its sheer. Is there a slip to wear underneath?”

He pursed his lips slightly, hiding a smile. “No, that’s what you’re wearing tonight. Is there a problem?”

She looked crestfallen. “I'll be arrested.” He laughed delightedly. “Lizzie, you’re allowed underwear. That’s been laid out for you as well. Really it’s no less than what you wore to the beach the other day.”

She looked doubtfully at the flimsy dress she held. “But, you said it was a Michelin star restaurant. I could be refused service,” she argued hopefully.

He regarded her, his head cocked to the side, a knowing look on his face. “Not with me, you won’t be.”

“Alright,” she murmured, turning back into the bedroom.

He grimaced, watching her leave. He’d hoped for some fun, some enjoyable theatrics to heat things up. Now all he was left with was a shamefully perverse desire to make her dine naked.

What was wrong with him? He had what he had long desired. Was he about to spoil it for himself?

He’d played with domination and submission in the bedroom before, he’d never been one to allow something like that to go unexplored. But this. This driving need to possess her, to bend her to his will - it wasn’t just fun. It was a compulsion. He felt sick.

 

* * *

 

 

Piano music tinkled in the background, setting an inviting atmosphere for the diners there that night.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her breathing was shallow, eyes dilated wide and that charming blush colored her cheeks. He loved to make her blush. It excited him, this visible evidence of her discomfort.

Coolly unconcerned by the stares her outfit was garnering, he checked his coat and guided her to their table.

Their waiter approached and politely asked for their drinks order, studiously avoiding looking at Lizzie. He ordered wine for both of them, not wanting scotch or a cocktail. He didn't want alcohol to interfere with his plans for them later that night.

“Lizzie,” he began after he'd ordered for them both. “We need to talk about a safe word for you. We really should have discussed this a few days ago now. You’ll...need one to continue what we’re doing. It’s important.”

“To continue what we’re doing...” she echoed, a questioning look on her face, “...what exactly are we doing?”

He paused before answering. “Exploring domination and submission, in admittedly...very odd circumstances. Is it what you want Lizzie?”

She smiled. “You know it is.”

He leaned back to look at her, absurdly pleased with her answer.

“So a safe word, huh? I don't know, I hadn't thought about it. I suppose we could do traffic lights? Green, yellow, red?”

He smirked, reaching across the table to stroke her scar. The expression on her face as he took this liberty was...well it was delicious. Her eyes widened as though he were stroking a far more intimate part of her body.

"Sweetheart, I intend to make you scream my name. It won't be much fun if every time you do, I think you want to stop, will it?"

She smiled sheepishly “You have a point. Just let me think a minute.” She tapped her lips with a finger, scanning the room, suddenly realizing that she was receiving a lot of furtive, scandalized looks from other diners. She hurriedly returned her focus to Red, a mortified expression on her face. “Everyone is looking at me,” she hissed.

“Well yes, of course they are. They see a beautiful woman in a...dazzling dress. Half the men in this room are thinking of what it would be like to have you for dessert, Lizzie.” He leaned forward as though to impart a secret. “There’s a man to the right of you, no don’t look. He’s thinking about licking whipped cream from your nipples.”

“Is that in the cards tonight?” she asked huskily.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well I don’t normally share but I could go and ask him, if it's something you really wanted.” He made a movement as though to stand up.

“What? No!" She squeaked, grabbing his arm, laughing at him as he settled back into his chair. "You love to tease, don't you?"

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression soft. "How does it make you feel...when I ask you to wear something like that for me?"

She gave him a considering look. "When I'm dressing or now?"

"Tell me everything."

"Well," she glanced at her lap.

"No, look at me."

Looking up again, she picked up her wineglass and took a sip, gripping it by the stem nervously. "It was exciting..." she murmured "...knowing you wanted to see me in this dress. Pulling it over my head and seeing what it looked like in the mirror was...yeah, very exciting."

"And now?"

"Now? I don't know." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. "It's humiliating."

"Is that exciting too?"

"What?" She looked shocked.

He changed direction. "Tell me how you feel when I spank you."

Her expression cleared. "I feel safe and desired. And it's also...it's...cleansing? I don't know how to describe it."

Their attention was momentarily distracted by the arrival of the first course. Once again, the waiter looked anywhere but at Lizzie. Red's tongue darted across his lips. Oh, he was enjoying this.

"When you finish the meal Lizzie, I want you to go to the ladies room and take your panties off. Come back here and give them to me."

She dropped her fork on the table with a clatter. "No...Red, you're teasing me."

He smiled. "Yes, but you'll do it, won't you?"

She eyed him, uncertain of how serious he was. Taking up her fork again, she took a bite of her meal to give herself time to breathe a little. "So have you got any plans for our next move? I do like it here," she ventured.

"I'm surprised. This town is run by the local mafia. Didn't think it would be your scene. But perhaps I should have anticipated it?"

She rolled her eyes, spearing a sesame seed encrusted piece of tuna and popping it into her mouth. "I've never been caught."

"You'll fit right in here then." There was silence for a beat, then,"you're awfully close to finished Lizzie. Did you like the sashimi?"

She swallowed, ignoring his gentle dig. "Omaha."

"What about it?"

"That's my safe word."

He laughed, a deep, genuine belly laugh. "Minx," he accused fondly.

Her lips quirked briefly into a smile. She popped the last piece of tuna into her mouth and looked at her plate, then back at him. He waited, not saying a word, an expectant and half amused expression on his face.

Slowly, she stood, pushing her chair out. "I'll be right back."

He watched her go, appreciating the sway of her hips and the view of her smooth legs under the gauze of her dress.

Startled looks followed her back to the table despite her best attempts to be unobtrusive. She'd stayed in the ladies room longer than she'd needed to, with her panties bunched in her fist, trying to work up the courage to walk out there and back to their table.

She dropped them into his lap, slashing a challenging look at him. She did sit down in an unseemly rush though. He picked them from his lap and examined them. The crotch was slick with her wetness. He smiled.

"Very good, Lizzie," he teased. “By the look of these, you’ve been enjoying showing yourself off for me tonight.”

There. That telltale blush again. He felt a jolt in his groin as she looked down at her lap once more, her hair curtaining her face in silky waves. He couldn’t wait to get her home.

 

* * *

 

Getting back to their suite was a trying experience for Lizzie. She silently thanked the powers that be for the cover of darkness, until of course they entered the foyer of their splendidly lit hotel. She was getting used to burning hot cheeks these days it seemed.

He walked her through to the elevator, his hand lightly at the small of her back. He silently chuckled as he found he needed to increase his pace to keep up with her as she practically marched through the lobby.

She was so grateful that they were the only ones to step into the elevator, that she found herself sagging against a wall with relief.

His soft growl was her only warning as he grabbed her by her middle, pushing her further up against the wall. He pressed his body into hers, his face so close, she could feel every breath against her cheek. He shoved his hand between her legs, stroking her through the fabric of her barely there dress. Her body responded, jerking to meet him, nipples tight and aching to be caressed, her skin becoming more sensitive as his hands roamed her flesh.

She wanted him so badly. To feel his lips on hers. He hadn't kissed her yet. He’d had her on her knees the previous night but he hadn’t yet touched her with his mouth. She wanted.

"Red, I want-" She bent her head toward him to catch his mouth but he jerked his chin playfully away. He was toying with her.

“Shhh, not yet,” he whispered in response to her whimpers.

She narrowed her eyes as the elevator doors opened. He had to half support her weight to their suite. Her legs were like jelly.

He deposited her on a chair, allowing her to steady herself as he peeled off his jacket and loosened his tie. He would need the tie later, in the bedroom.

"Red," she said, coming up behind him and pressing herself against him. "You want me right? Don't you want..." She trailed off, her body language suggesting what she was failing to say.

He glanced at her, his expression giving away nothing. Quick as lightning, he grasped her chin with one hand, his strong fingers squeezing her jaw firmly. "When I'm ready, Lizzie," he said silkily, his voice low and dangerous, sending pleasant tendrils of arousal coiling through her. "Not on your terms, but on mine, yes?"

She nodded, wide eyed, panting with a heady mix of shock and desire. His fingers were digging into her cheek so hard it was hurting her. He drew her face toward him, still gripping her jaw and took her mouth, painfully soft, his lips only brushing hers, the tenderness of the kiss belying the strength of his hand at her throat.

She exhaled slowly. He had kissed her. She felt dizzy, her extremities tingled. She'd waited so long for this, and it hadn’t been anything like what she’d expected. It was so much better.

“Lizzie, do you trust me?”

“Uhuh...” she moved in dreamily for another kiss.

He shook his head impatiently, tapping her cheek.

“No darling, I need your attention. Do you trust me?”

Her eyes cleared. She furrowed her brow. Didn't he know?

“I trust you, Red. I wouldn't be here if I didn’t.”

He nodded, satisfied, pulling her against him. “You need to give me your safe word if you ever want to stop, you understand me?”

His lips were against her ear now, his voice vibrating through her, sending shivers down her spine. He pinched her upper arm gently. “Do you understand? I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, I’ll give you my safe word if I want to stop. You know I will.”

"Good. Now strip and go into the bedroom and kneel on the bed. I'll be there in a minute."

Shivering with anticipation, she scrambled to comply. It was a cool night but her skin was so warm. She ran her hands over her own body, her muscles quivering tightly. Something was different tonight. What was it? He had asked her if she was excited by her humiliation from being practically nude. Had she been? She wasn't sure of much, only that the feelings produced tonight had been intense, coming from a place she hadn't even been aware of before.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Red leaning in the doorway, his arms folded, gazing at her with obvious pleasure. He held his tie and a silk scarf in his hands. Moving forward into the room like a hunter stalking his prey, he approached the bed and stood over her.

"I'm going to blindfold you and bind your hands behind your back now."

She shivered and nodded, her teeth chattering despite the warm glow she felt. Nerves.

"Are you cold, Lizzie?"

"No."

"Alright then".

He moved to caress her cheek. "Hold still."

Looping his maroon patterned tie around her head, he gently pulled it across her eyes.

"How's that? Tell me if you can see," he commanded.

"I can't see anything, Red," she said throatily.

She could hear the smile in his voice. "Perfect."

She gave a tiny gasp as he moved onto the bed.

"What?"

“Nothing, sorry. I just...I just feel like every sound, every movement you make is amplified by a thousand.”

She felt a brush of his lips on her ear, his breath against her neck. "Good. That's very good, Lizzie."

Her heart was pounding, God this was amazing. She was so tense and she knew how aware he was of it. He was playing her like a violin. He was behind her on the bed now. She could feel his shirt brush against her back as he took both of her arms and drew them around towards him. She felt his strong hands circling her wrists, knotting them together with the silk scarf. He pulled her flush against him and reached around to cup her breast, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned, arching her back, turning her head towards him, searching for his mouth in the darkness behind her blindfold.

"Face forward, Lizzie," he growled.

She heard him behind her, his movements on the bed unsteadying her. And then, a whoosh of air close by her ear. He had tapped her lightly across her mid back with something. What was it? It was soft and tasseled. He gently dragged it across her skin.

She breathed out, "Oh." Her soft exhalation eliciting a chuckle from behind her.

"How does that feel?" "It feels-"

Another gentle thud against her back. She shuddered.

"Soft, it feels soft."

Again. It came again and again, a steady beat of a drum in her ears as he rained down light taps of the flogger. Her nerve endings were singing. She felt more alive than she ever had. Her hearing was sharp as a knife, every one of her senses heightened almost unbearably. She could hear the susurration of the flogger each time he swung. She could smell him, the achingly familiar, warm scent of Red in the cool night air. The evening breeze was against her skin, tinged with sea salt wafting in from the open window.

Her skin was heating up now. The thud as the falls of the flogger swished across her back and the sting like an aftertaste was growing in intensity, her mind struggling to keep up with the sensory input.

Another movement. Her ears picked up a soft rustling as he changed direction. Then, a caress of the flogger across her breasts. And another, harder this time, the sting on her nipples an exquisite sensation, not yet painful, but bringing her to the edge as he peppered her skin with bursts of electric heat.

She heard her breathing and his, so loud in the stillness of the bedroom. Heavy, panting, shivering breath. She trembled with the strain of remaining balanced on the bed, feeling beads of sweat rolling down her body.

She wasn't sure how she knew, because he moved soundlessly this time but she felt him bend over her, expecting and welcoming his mouth before he was even on her.

And then his tongue was licking a trail down her stomach. It was too much, she felt herself lose balance and topple backwards.

He caught her. His arms around her.

"Please, Red, please, please," she begged.

"Lizzie," he groaned, pulling her close, desire and adrenaline in his blood like a drug. He reached around to release her bound hands and gently laid her on the bed, his tie still over her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, kneeling over her body. He ran a hand over the reddened marks on her chest, heard her breath catch and suddenly he couldn't wait.

Clothes. Why did he still have his shirt and pants on? He stripped himself down, returning to her body eagerly, desperately, exploring her with his tongue, with his mouth and hands.

She was whimpering now, pleading with him, her arms reaching for him as he settled himself over her.

Just the sight of her wriggling on the bed, searching blindly for him, his body, his lips, was enough to...

He pushed into her roughly, his teeth at her throat, his hands gripping her hair. She arched into him, her pleading becoming inarticulate, choked cries of pleasure. He'd meant to play with her for longer than this but he wanted her now. He wanted to own her, to possess her mouth, her hair, her whole body.

And she wanted it too. She clutched at his shoulders, wrapping her legs around him, grinding her hips to meet his, taking as much as she needs, like he was doing with her. It was an unspoken agreement. He uses his body to force her down further into the bed just as he feels her go still and she's quivering, pulsing around his cock, keening into his ear, her cries pulling a visceral response from him, urging him further.

He's groaning, taking her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip. And in the back of his mind he's worried he's hurt her. Has he bitten too hard? He's pulled her hair, grabbed, wrenched at her. She didn't seem to mind though.

Her cries are never of protest, she seeks him out still, her arms around him as he climaxes into her with a guttural moan.

He lies over her, holding her to his chest. They're both panting, slick with sweat. He rolls off her onto his back, his face turned towards her.

She sits up and smiles, still sightless under her blindfold. And he feels an unsettling blend of horror and desire as he sees the bite marks he's left on her neck, her face, her breast. She's still slightly welted by the deerskin flogger he used on her. He can't help himself. He reaches to stroke her marked body. His. He feels as though he could mark her every night, that he'd keep his ownership visible on her skin forever if she'd let him. He clenches his teeth at the thought, both arousing and sickening.

"That,"' she said, "was the wildest and best sex I've ever had."


	3. Chapter 3

“I didn't know you could paint.”

“I can do a lot of things, not least among them, spanking your ass if you don’t get up. We’re going to sit by the sea and I’m going to paint you.”

She dimpled with pleasure, rising up from the white linen sheets like Aphrodite from the sea. The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting her pale skin, making her hair shine. The welts on her breast appeared shockingly pink in the light of day. He swallowed. He could look at her forever, he thought. If he could snatch her up and bottle her like a genie, he would.

She rustled around in the wardrobe, looking for her swimsuit. Well, he’d let her wear it for the time being.

She disappeared around the corner into the bathroom. He sat on the bed, tapping his foot restlessly. He’d had what he thought was a fantastic idea and he was impatient to put it into place.

She poked her head back around the corner. “Are we going to eat breakfast before we go?”

“I should say no, you've slept the morning through,” he said with a quirk of his lips, showing that he wasn't serious. “But, we’ll take a picnic brunch with us. See? I’ve thought of everything. Now let’s go, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t a long way, but Red had chosen a rocky, overgrown path to a deserted part of the beach. It was so difficult to get to that it wasn't often a populated area. And that suited his plans just fine.

“Where’s your canvas?” she inquired curiously, taking the hand proffered to her as she clambered down a large rock onto the sand.

He smiled. “You’re my canvas.”

The look she gave him was delicious. Uncertainty and eagerness with glinting good humor shining from her eyes. His chest filled with a pleasant ache. She was a dream, his dream. Did she have any idea how mesmerizing she could be?

They meandered along the beach, searching for a spot to settle themselves in. Red chose a sandy dune that was well protected from the wind by small, scrubby bushes. He pulled out a picnic rug from the basket he'd been carrying. He'd had his own discreet staff take care of everything they needed that morning and he was very well pleased with the contents of the basket. He handed her a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a whole host of fruits; bright purple grapes, luscious strawberries and three different melons. A loaf of bread at the bottom of the basket was still vaguely warm, ready to be slathered with pats of creamy butter. 

He beckoned her to him. "Sit."

She sat close to him, cross legged, her zebra striped swimsuit juxtaposed oddly against the tartan of the picnic rug.

He idly ran his hand through her hair. She winced, her scalp sore from the events of the evening before. Smirking, he briefly gripped her hair a little harder. He loved pulling these reactions from her. She was so responsive, it was like playing an instrument.

The pop of the champagne cork, the waves crashing on the beach, the sound of the seagulls overhead, it was seeping into him, relaxing and soothing. The predator ravaging inside him slept, allowing him to appreciate the natural wonder about him. And the beautiful woman reclining at his side.

He fed her bites of buttered bread, a grape here and there, a strawberry, slices of melon. The feel of her mouth closing over his fingertips was exquisite. She deliberately sucked grape juice from his fingers, her tongue running along the underside of his forefinger, teasing him, stirring him in ways that she could only guess at.

“Lizzie,” he growled. “If you keep doing that with your tongue, I’m going to make a mess of you and I need to keep you clean for the art.”

She laughed. "What did you mean before? About me being your canvas?”

He leaned over, drawing paints, paint brushes, various sponges and a polaroid camera out of the basket. “Just what I said. I want to paint you. Stand up and take your swimsuit off.”

She quirked an eyebrow but happily obliged. She removed her swimsuit and reached her arms high above her head, standing on her tip toes, arching her back into a full body stretch.

His eyes glazed. She was showing herself off now. He suspected she knew exactly what this was doing to him, the little tease.

Well then.

He busied himself setting up to have his fun.

She looked on curiously. He was wetting a sponge with silver paint. What was he going to do? Face painting?

He looked up, with a jerk of his chin he called her to come closer. 

“Lizzie, stand here with your legs apart, arms up. That’s it, like a snow angel.”

He circled her slowly, placing a hand around her waist, dragging his fingers lightly across her stomach. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying his touch on her sun-warmed body. 

"What are you going to do?" She was a little breathless just from his caress.

"This." 

She felt a wet sponge on her breast. Her eyes fluttered open. What was that? He'd swiped her breast with a coating of silver body paint. His hands were now drifting everywhere, smearing her skin with silver.

“What?Why?”

"I told you. I'm going to paint you." He touched her face with the sponge, smearing her lips, her cheek and brow. "Close your eyes." He lightly dabbed at her closed lids, tickling behind her ears. She giggled. 

"I had thought of painting my name all over your body. But then I saw you in bed this morning and I couldn't help thinking of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty...and pleasure." He traced the sponge along the underside of her breast. She shuddered, leaning into him. He held her at arm's length, examining the paint. "And I think I'm going to play with that theme. Won't that be fun?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, her arms were sore, her legs restless and tired but she was still standing, limbs splayed as he knelt in front of her, his hands, shirt, even his elbows, messy with silver as he worked across her body with a fine tipped paint brush. He had coated her from top to tail with body paint, teasing her with his feathery touch, exciting her with casual swipes of the sponge at the juncture of her legs, punishing her, he'd said, grinning lasciviously. 

She'd been taken aback at that. Punishing her for what? She hadn't expected his shrug of amusement. "Do I have to have a reason Lizzie? Maybe I just like to see you squirm?"

And she had. Squirming, wriggling, stretching her legs and arms like a ballerina. He was so meticulous, painting delicate whorls and curlicues onto her skin, using a white paint that shone and glittered against the silver. Occasionally, he'd bring out a pot of green or a deep pink or carmine, intent on an exquisite recreation of cherry blossoms across her stomach, twining it's way over her breasts and nestling at her throat. He'd told her that he'd painted a flock of doves across her left shoulder.

"This is amazing Red. When did you discover you could paint? There's nothing about it in your FBI files," she said, toeing patterns into the sand.

He huffed irritably. "A watercolor tattooist in Brazil. I was researching tattoos at the time for my own reasons and stayed for a few months. Victor is quite possibly the best in the world, both as a tattooist and an artist. And if you don't stop moving Lizzie, I'm going to start counting each time I have to redo something and your ass will pay for it later," he said, his eyebrows raised.

She gave him a sunny smile in return. He snorted, continuing on with his work. She didn't move again until she noticed he'd signed his name with a flourish at her hip bone. She laughed then.

"Okay," he stood and moved away to survey his completed work. His chin rose in approval. He always took his fun where he could. It was part of the life that he lived. It had been a long time since he’d had such a...bundle of fun right at his fingertips.

He fell back onto the picnic rug, exhausted. Reaching for the camera, he reclined, half sitting, half lying across the rug. He wanted pictures of this. Beauty was such a transient thing. He wouldn't try and keep her like this for long. Pristine, lovely in her silver, ethereal nakedness. But he would have pictures.

He smiled, gesturing a circle with his finger. “Pirouette for me Lizzie.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like being bitten! Okay! :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FilmsareFriends is my homegirl.
> 
> Also, my beta and best ever.
> 
> Disclaimed.

Flying away in the jet had been strangely unsettling for them both but it had hit Lizzie particularly hard. She wanted to hold onto the feelings and memories they'd had in Mexico. She could still feel the sand sticking to her feet, her skin stiff with salt water, the warm sun giving her a healthy glow that she hadn't had before in D.C.

And she was concerned that Red had changed. Was he regretting what was between them now? He was introspective, busy and almost curt with her. The transformation of their relationship had been so sudden and intense, she hadn't been prepared. Perhaps he hadn't either?

They'd left far too urgently for her to feel at ease. He'd come back to the suite after a meeting with an associate one afternoon and told her to pack a bag, they were leaving. Now. She hadn't even asked why the rush until they were in the sky. He'd been airy and vague, dodging her question easily.

In the old days that would have caused an argument. She would have have ambushed him with harsh words, hating herself for the pained, stoic look that would crawl across his face when she treated him that way.

She ground her teeth now, treading the boards of their deck. She felt as though she'd been imprisoned in silk and lace ribbons. They were in Cambodia, on a private atoll in the middle of the South China Sea. She couldn't get away unless it was on the speedboat that took Red to the mainland most mornings and bought him back, tired and tense in the late afternoon. She didn't want to leave exactly. She just wanted to know she could. She wanted to be involved in what was happening. It was an uncomfortable feeling creeping up on her, this trapped restlessness. She was a pet, leashed and shut up, pampered and spoilt but mostly ignored.

She folded her arms. Things had to change. Starting as soon as he got back.

 

 

* * *

 

The only person she knew who was more single minded than herself was Red. Which is why she shouldn't have been so surprised at her position only an hour later.

She was spread naked upon the bed, her hands and legs cuffed to each bedpost.

She’d been so focused, sure of herself, practising what she wanted to say to him.

He couldn't read minds could he? It was uncanny. He’d leapt up from the boat onto the small dock as he did every day, looked at her and stilled, his body language changing from tired and businesslike to sleek and predatory in a second.

She’d been taken aback. Those weren't the signals she was sending off with _her_ own body language _at all_.

“We need to talk.”

He’d sailed past her, clearly confident that she’d scramble to follow him.

“Red! Are you listening?”

He spun around on her so fast, she collided against him. He took hold of her, pressing her tight against him. His long fingers were gently around her neck and his face was buried in her hair. The work of a moment and she’d forgotten half of what she’d planned to say.

“Not really, sweetheart,” his voice was a soft rumble through the tangle of her hair. “I haven't been at my best today. I’ve wanted to scratch...an itch... all day. And you weren't there to scratch it for me.” He walked her backwards into a wall. "Oh look," he said mildly. "Here you are now."

"Red", she warned breathlessly.

"Shhh, come with me."

"I want to talk about why we left Mexico. Has something happened? You've been ignoring me, don't try and say you haven't." She'd followed him into the bedroom, hands on her hips, a dark, worried look on her face.

He was ignoring her. Proving it even as the words spilled over her lips. His back to her, he was bent over a briefcase at the end of the bed. He drew soft leather cuffs from the briefcase and a loop of shiny, silken rope.

"I don't think so,"' she began firmly but she never finished what she was going to say. He turned to her, circling her waist with his arm. It seemed as though he was closing in for a hug and she gratefully reached for him but he pushed her down onto the bed instead. She hadn't expected it and so she overbalanced easily, tipping forward into the soft mattress.

Annoyed now, she turned over only to find him on top of her, his hand at her breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers through her shirt. She melted.

Damn.

She’d tried to bargain. “Okay, we can play now,” she’d gasped between his throat swabbing kisses. “But you’ll talk to me later, yeah?”

It didn't seem like he heard her at all. He’d peeled her shirt and pants off before she’d had a chance to clear her head. He’d shifted her to the middle of the bed and she’d eagerly spread herself for him, expecting the heat of his body and his hardness inside her but he’d cuffed her deftly to the bed leaving her panting and ready for him.

He’d poured all the shocking things he wanted to do to her into her ear, thrilling and disgusting her. She hadn’t heard his darker desires yet. She was horrified at herself as she felt her own responses to the pictures he was drawing for her imagination.

And then the urgency in his voice died down and he just looked at her, examining her like she was a new hat he intended to purchase.

He hummed with pleasure, eying his prize, tied down on the bed for his delectation.

"What hits your hot buttons then, Lizzie? Tell me the most erotic dream or fantasy you've had."

She paled.

"Oh! It's going to be a good one isn’t it?"

He pounced on her, playing with her wrist above her head, hooking a leg around hers, gently brushing his mouth along her jaw. "Tell me, Lizzie…” he growled against her lips.

She shook her head mutely. Her chest was heaving. Was she ashamed? Her eyes were darting around the room, avoiding his gaze as though she knew it would be all over if he could catch a glance from her.

He smiled privately to himself. What secret desire was she hiding?

"You know," he purred, deliberately keeping his voice roughened. "I've always been a breaker of rules." He nibbled at her neck, his hands above her head, playing with her scar. He knew by now she hated that. The loss of control that went with it. He enjoyed bothering her with the amount of control he retained over her reactions. Touch her here and she'd gasp just this way, touch her there and her hips would jerk towards him, pulled on an invisible string. She was an open book and her discomfort with that was adorable.

He ground his hips into hers, a crackle of heat shooting between them. "Nothing you tell me could shock, sweetheart." He licked a bead of sweat at the hollow of her throat, tracing kisses further down her body. She moaned, almost protesting. "What was that? You wanted to share something?"

"I have...I used to have, one fantasy," she winced, "it freaked Nick out, he was pretty offended. Thought I wanted to be unfaithful to him."

"Tell me."

She looked at him now, her eyes heavily lidded. "You're a possessive man, Raymond, are you sure you want to hear?"

He bit her breast hard, eliciting a stifled cry of pain and a heated look from her.

"I said...tell me."

Squirming uncomfortably, her eyes slid away again. She huffed, annoyed.

"Okay, Nick had this friend, he was cute and funny. He'd flirt with me, nothing inappropriate, just good natured teasing...and I used to imagine inviting him over for dinner and I'd be lying on the dining table and...well..." She trailed off, her cheeks suffused with heat.

"And he had you for dinner, didn’t he?" Red prompted slyly.

She dimpled cheekily. "Well, the both of them did."

"Hmmmm, that's interesting." He took a nipple into his mouth, gently laving her with his tongue, blowing on and biting her nipple by turns. "So you were stretched out, yes? On the table. Spread eagle?"

"Mmmhmm."

He let her wrist go, drifting his hand over her cheek, caressing her silky skin. His hands made gentle love to her and his mouth bit at her flesh, hungry and demanding. She gasped and sighed from one moment to another. She found it hard to keep up when he did this. Soft and light, and ferocious all at the same time. It was overwhelming, like drowning, she thought.

What was he doing to her?

He was moving down her body now. His chin resting on her hip, looking right at her still. She caught his eyes, and a thrill of fear rolled through her. His gaze was so all encompassing, his lidded stare seemed to say aloud: **I own you. You are mine and I will do with you as I wish.** It was frightening.

He burrowed his face into her and...sniffed deeply, obnoxiously.

"Red!"

"What? You smell glorious. The musky scent...of my sweet... " he dipped his tongue into her folds, opening and exploring her and coming up again for air as she cried out. "Lizzie,"he finished, licking his lips provocatively.

She strained at her bonds as he swept her up in his kiss, the pressure building at her core. The caress of his tongue was maddening. He knew just how far to take her before backing off, gently pressing kisses along her inner thigh as the crest of her desire subsided each time.

He was being far too gentle and doing it deliberately, damn him. Playing with her, teasing her, using her own need against her.

“Please...” she choked out.

He ignored her, tonguing her clit solicitously as though he could never want to do anything else in the world.

And he had stamina. Hours worth of it.

“Red!” She was almost weeping now. She lifted her hips toward him, begging, offering anything, just please let her come. Drenched with sweat, her body twitched involuntarily under his ministrations, all pride forgotten. “Please, please, Red,” she panted. “I’ll do anything, please stop, please, please stop.”

His head jerked up. “Stop?”

“No! Fuck! Please don’t stop. Please let me come!”

He chuckled wickedly. “I’m having fun Lizzie. What if I don't want you to come?”

And then she _was_ weeping. Tears of frustration, gasping through trembling lips, bucking herself up to his mouth beseechingly.

He laughed, holding her hips down with both hands as she thrashed uselessly on the bed.

“I’ll let you come Lizzie, if you do it my way. Can you do that?”

“Yes! Yes! Just let me…”

“Alright,” he murmured, “you said yes, sweetheart.” And then he was applying intense pressure with his tongue directly on her clit. He slipped a finger inside of her, to the knuckle, thrusting into her roughly. She gurgled, a rush of heat suffusing her entire body, and she was clenching, quivering, her back arching despite his hands firmly at her hips.

She was so sensitive, she barely registered if she was still feeling pleasure anymore but the ache at her core was crashing over her. She was close, so close.

And as she fell over the edge, he _bit_ down on her. Hard. She screamed, her climax an inextricable jumble of pleasure and pain.

* * *

 

She’d wept afterward. He’d gently uncuffed her and held her to him. Soothing her, caressing, murmuring endearments into her ear.

“You were so good darling, so good.”

“What happened?” She’d sobbed. “I don’t understand.”

“You pleased me very much, that's what happened. I’m loving showing you how pleasurable a bit of pain can be,” he whispered.

He held her curled up to him for hours until she slept. It was the most important time with her, he knew. Her defenses were down, she reached for him, needing him. And he loved it, wanted more of this.

He’d wanted to make her cry. His brain slowed, froze. Everything was fine. They’d had a close call in Mexico. Ressler had sent a team in but they’d flown the coop and he hadn’t found them. They were more than safe where they were for the moment. He had powerful friends in the government here.They were virtually untouchable. But he found himself loath to share these details with her. Why?

He wanted to see her tears, wanted to see her vulnerable before him. And she made it so easy.


	5. Chapter 5

She woke to a growling in her belly. Hungry, thirsty, dehydrated even. She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose. She didn't need to look beside her to know he wasn't there.

He’d left a note: 

Gone, back soon. 

She sighed. How verbose of him, she thought irritably, scrunching the strip of paper in her hand and throwing it across the room half heartedly.

They'd both been too exhausted and emotionally depleted to eat last night. She was used to missing meals though. Her months of cheap motel rooms with no kitchen to speak of had been a sort of freedom. She could eat when and where she liked. She hadn't made healthy choices when she had eaten but she'd found herself losing weight despite that. Thanks to her fast metabolism and a lot of skipped meals, she supposed.

She listlessly wandered through the house after a quick shower. The man who usually arrived with baskets of fresh food hadn’t showed yet, so Red had left with an empty stomach. 

She softened for a moment, thinking of the fishermen who would casually sail past the house every hour or so, clearly guarding her. Red hadn't said anything about them or the older man who came to their pier every morning, smiling and cheerfully hauling their fresh groceries indoors for them. He had told her to expect the Cambodian girl every few days to clean as well. Lizzie hadn't asked about them but she didn't need to. All of them had their stories and she had a strong hunch that a large amount of them, if not all, had been extricated by Red or his organization from the nefarious sea slave trade that boomed across this part of the South China Sea.

She’d seen him speaking with a local at the end of the pier once or twice. His big hands gesturing, clearly telling a story in stilted but enthusiastic khmer. How did he do that? He won over virtually everyone he met, knew half a dozen languages, or at least knew them well enough to get by and hold his own.

It was getting later in the morning and all she’d had was water. Where was the old gentleman? He was usually there in the early hours, just after the sun had risen. Her mind ran through all the worst case possibilities. She did that a lot lately. What would she do if no one came? What if Red were kidnapped on the mainland? She’d have to figure out a way off of the small reef or starve. 

He really should be giving her more information to arm herself with. He’d essentially overwhelmed and distracted her with sex last night and she was just now feeling the extent of that manipulation. She still had no information. If she’d been asked, she couldn't even name the atoll that their palatial residence was based on. She determined to herself to make a stronger case to him to include her in what he knew.

Her mind flicked to the locked desk in the main room of the house. Red occasionally worked there and would lock the desk each night when he finished, pocketing the key. But she could get in. Picking a lock was child’s play, at least for her.

Her fingers twitched.

If she hadn’t heard the growl of an outboard motor just then, she would have made her way to that desk. As it was, food was higher on the list of her priorities. 

She rushed out the door and down to the pier, stopping short when she caught sight of the young boy in the boat. He had come with his grandfather once before, delivering the food. He was alone now. He would be about nineteen, she guessed. Tensing, she slowly made her way down the pier, watching carefully as he docked.

“Chomreabsuor,” she offered in his language, her tongue tangling over the greeting.

He grinned. “Hello,” he said slowly. “I have some English.”

Her eyes widened. Opportunity had come knocking. She gestured to the food in the boat, “do you want help with that?”

He looked at her as though he were parsing her words to find the meaning, then smiled, leaping from the boat with a basket in each hand. “No, thank you.”

She led the way into the house. “Is your grandfather well?” 

“Oh, yes. He is very sorry he could not come. His sister is sick, so he goes to her village to visit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She will be fine. Mr. Reddington has arranged for the drugs.”

“Drugs?” she asked sharply.

“The malaria. My great aunt has suffered many weeks. She has been taking drugs, they do not work. Counterfeit,” he explained.

“Oh! Mr Reddington has given her medication for malaria then?”

He nodded. “Yes, my father was called away for work, otherwise he would deliver them. I hope Mr. Reddington will not mind me coming here instead of grandfather?” he asked anxiously. 

“I’m sure it will be fine,” she smiled reassuringly. She rifled through the baskets, looking for something to eat. She reached eagerly for a banana, peeling and wolfing it down in under ten seconds.

The look of concern on the poor boy’s face was priceless. “So sorry I’m late, you must have been hungry.”

She laughed. “I’ll live,” she said through mouthfuls of mushy fruit. “I wonder though, do you need to hurry back? Mr. Reddington hasn’t had the chance yet to assign me a guide. You speak English, you could show me around over on the mainland.”

The expression on his face was disconcerted. He clearly wasn’t sure what decision to make here. He’d had his instructions and they didn't include this. But he didn't wish to offend the young lady who was so obviously a favorite of the powerful man he’d heard stories about.

“I mean,” she plowed on, “I know he’d pay you well for the inconvenience if you had to take time off from your usual work. What do you do?”

His eyes lit up, “I am learning to be a potter. I have an apprenticeship. My father arranged a holiday so that I might bring your food.” He considered another moment or two and then seemed to come to a decision. “I think it would be no problem.”

“Great,” she flashed a grin at him. “Let me grab a bag and some cash. Is there somewhere I can trade U.S. dollars for local currency?” She said, thinking of the briefcase full of large bills in the bedroom.

“U.S dollars are fine here, in most places. If not, you need only mention you are here as a guest of Mr. Reddington. It will be taken care of.”

“Really?” she said thoughtfully.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour to the mainland. He'd become more and more excited, loudly extolling the virtues of his village and the larger touristy areas. His voice was barely heard above the roar of the engine but his infectious enthusiasm was obvious in his demeanour. 

He'd asked her what he should call her. Sarah, she'd said, plucking the name of an old school friend out of her memory for her use. He'd introduced himself as Chea, oldest of four children. He told her all about his extended family on the way there. His uncle had become indentured into the slave trade years ago due to debt, when Mr. Reddington had obliterated a number of large fishing vessels in the area. The captain and crew had essentially been slaves, forcing his uncle and others to work insane hours of often dangerous labor on the sea. Red had been their knight in shining armor apparently. 

She'd smiled at the vision of him in a gleaming suit on a noble steed, and then shrugged her shoulders, laughing to herself uncomfortably, ruthlessly mocking her own naive romanticism to herself. She would have to be careful, she thought privately. These stabs of mawkish sentiment were dangerous. He cared for her and took his self imposed charge to keep her safe very seriously, she knew that without a trace of doubt, but to imagine that she could continue to hold his attention for long the way a woman like Madeline Pratt could...well it was unlikely.

The sights and sounds of a crowded tourist town were balm to her soul, a welcome distraction from her obsessive thoughts on her relationship with Reddington.

Wandering the busy streets, Chea in tow, she lost herself in the pleasure of a cacophony of noises coming from every direction. They explored a local hill temple, splendid in red and gold with views across the entire town. They’d hired some dirt bikes for a while and tossed down a margarita on the beach. She’d intended to make a beeline for an internet cafe and gather anything she could on what had been happening in the news while she was away. She was surprised to find she’d forgotten about that until it was too late. She took note of the time. If she could get back before Red, she’d be able to try this another day.

The time. She hadn’t realised how quickly it had gone by.

“Chea,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. We need to get back now.”

He nodded cheerfully. He’d had a rare holiday, enjoying chatting to the engaging Sarah and showing her his beloved town. 

It seemed like hours in the boat on the way back. She’d be fine, she was sure. As long as he hadn’t returned early. He rarely did but it had happened once or twice. 

As they came into sight of the house, over the open water she saw her fears realised. His boat was tied up at the pier. 

There were a number of boats actually. And people, crowded around toward the end of the pier. As they approached, faces turned to look at them. Some were Red’s security she recognized from Mexico. She hadn't realised they'd come with them. Others were locals that were clearly in Red’s employ. And there was Red.

There was silence as she stepped from the boat. And then the ominous click of every gun on the pier. They were all aimed on Chea.

“No!” she cried, a sickening jolt in her stomach. “Red, I promised Chea you wouldn't mind if he acted as my tour guide today. I meant to be back earlier.”

She stepped in front of him, shielding him. 

Red’s face had been a businesslike mask until now. His head jerked back to look her full in the face, his eyes wide, his lips thinning, his body dangerously still. He stared at her for the longest moment then with a wave of his hand, he indicated for everyone to stand down.

She breathed again. She heard him say something in Khmer, a derisive tone in his voice that made her flinch despite having no idea what he’d said. The men around him roared with laughter, dispersing with the odd sidelong look at her.

She looked at Chea. He was trembling. Red approached him.

“Thank you for looking after her today. I hope she wasn't too much trouble.”

There was no answer. The frightened young man’s eyes were wide and a sickly smile was plastered across his face. Red had a reputation in the area as a man never to cross.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he said, his voice airy and indifferent. He reached for his back pocket and pulled out a pocket book, drawing out a wad of bills. “Here. Will your grandfather be visiting us tomorrow as usual?”

He found his tongue, “Oh, yes.”

"That's good then. I hope Sreynoch is well very soon.” With that he turned to go, making Chea’s dismissal clear.

She stood alone on the pier. Chea had fled to his boat and Red has made his way back into the house.

Her heart squeezed painfully thinking of every time she'd had good cause to see that look on his face before and never had. He didn't judge her, or never seemed to. His patience had been in such vast supply, that she’d always felt safe playing at the edges of it. 

She followed him slowly into the house. Now she didn’t know what to think.

The sight that met her eyes when she walked into the house overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry, she blinked, desperately trying not to. 

Every surface of the front room was covered in vases of long stemmed red roses. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, walking through the house, finding more and more space just filled with flowers.

He had come home with this surprise for her and had found her gone, with no explanation.

She could hear him in the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she went to find him. She had to make this right.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had meant to come in and apologize. She wasn’t good at apologies but if a time ever called for it, this was it. The words didn't come though. She looked at his face.

The strained lines around his mouth and eyes were white with fury.

"Go and get your hair brush."

She hesitated. Shocked at his request. He'd spanked her for infractions before but they'd always been light hearted, almost playful. She'd leave a mess in the bathroom, knowing how he disliked it, in anticipation of a light, sensual spanking. He'd never looked at her this way before, never used anything but his hand or the deer skin flogger.

“I don't want to.” She’d meant it to be belligerent, challenging. It had come out as a whining plea. She took in his expression with a sinking feeling. He was disgusted with her. In his eyes, she’d behaved as a child and it was wearing thin with him.

Her heart lurched, regret for her earlier actions crashing painfully down on her. Had she always been so heedless? Maybe. But she’d never cared so much for his good opinion as she did now.

She slunk away, reluctantly retrieving her hairbrush. offering it to him, uncertainty and fear taking hold of her.

“Pull your skirt down and keep your panties on,” his voice was emotionless. He could have been reading out the crossword clues from the morning paper, as he liked to do.

Her stomach twisted. He wanted her panties to remain on. He intended to punish her. As though she were a child. No hint of any erotic games. No fingers slipped inside of her as he spanked her ass. She trembled with shame. 

Hands gripped the fabric of her skirt. She felt disconnected from herself, as though it weren't her own hands preparing herself for this.

“Red,” She quavered. “It was just...I was just...”

“I’m tired of fearing for your safety due to your irresponsibility, Elizabeth. Over my knee. Now.”

He positioned her carefully, impersonally on the edge of his knee. He rubbed the hair brush once, twice over her and lifted it with a sudden smack onto the centre of her bottom. She flinched.

His next one struck on her upper leg, just below her bottom. She bit back a yelp. It burned, a fierce, stinging pain. He smacked again and again with the hairbrush, steady and passionless, working his way over the same spots, the centre of her bottom, the seat of her pants.

Tears ran down her face. It hurt, yes, but she’d never endured this without the haze of lust urging her, making her squirm over his lap. It made it a far greater ordeal. Her mind revolted at being made to feel like a recalcitrant child and at the same time she cursed her own foolhardiness, bitterly regretting the momentary fear she must have caused him, the disappointment she felt radiating from him now.

He pushed her off of his lap onto the bed, letting her know he was finished. 

"Go and sit on that chair," he indicated to a wooden seat at the other side of the room. "I'm done with you."

She looked up at him in alarm. He caught her expression, realizing how she'd interpreted his words. He touched her face reassuringly. "Lizzie...I was afraid for you." He sighed, shaking his head and left the room.

She sat, attempting to organize the chaotic thoughts in her head.

Oh, she loved him, she loved him. The thought came to her wretchedly as she wrapped her arms around herself. She could barely breathe. Struggling to take in air, she wept silently, slumped in the chair.

It wasn’t any use. She loved him.


	6. Chapter 6

She'd remained in their bedroom for hours, sitting on the wooden chair, staring at the wall. Misery lay so heavy over her, she almost felt it as a physical presence.

She loved him.

It was a surprise. Perhaps it shouldn't have been, but there it was. She'd had sex without love before. She had no problems separating a good time from the deeper feelings. She'd brought men back to her motel once or twice in the months after Tom.

It hadn't hurt her, hadn't caused her any guilt. Compartmentalizing was easy. Until now.

She didn't welcome it, didn't get a thrill from it. She hated that she'd let herself fall in love with the worst possible choice at the worst possible time.

What did he feel for her? Could she make him feel the same way?

She was so exhausted. Her body and mind felt battered. She felt herself slump down into the chair, drifting.

 

* * *

 Waking up in soft sheets was for a moment, confusing. Hadn't she been sitting on a chair? She was curled in pillows and sheets now, alone in the bed.

Then it came rushing back to her. The secret adventure of the day before, the embarrassment of seeing all those men about to embark on a search for her, the stomach-curdling guilt as she’d began to comprehend the alarm she’d caused. And his punishment.

He must have carried her to bed after she'd fallen asleep on the chair. She should have been grateful for that but all she felt was desperation. She was not a child. She felt as though she was already losing any hold she had over him.

Things had to change. But maybe she was going about it the wrong way?

She rolled out of bed, heading to the bathroom. She was going to have a hot shower, put on a soft bathrobe and see if she could fix things.

* * *

 

He'd sat up all night, unable to rest. It had hurt him, seeing her draped over the chair, fast asleep, when he'd gone to check on her.

She'd looked so alone. He had done this to her. He knew he was holding her too close but he couldn't help himself. He'd tried to distance himself lately, afraid of what his own passions might drive him to do.

He wanted to take her, twist her to his desires. She yielded and he only wanted to bend her further. He shook now as he imagined his diabolical craving growing so great that he could cause her terrible pain.  

She appeared in the doorway of the living room, her damp curls clinging softly around her face. He saw her and his heart hardened. The selfish part of him thought now of the attractive, muscular young man who’d been accompanying her around the previous day.

“Red? I want to apologize. I was feeling…I don't know, bored and lonely. I didn't think about what it might look like to you if you came back first. Please...I want things to be better between us.”

His lip curled. He said nothing for a moment, just watching her, examining her words.

She sloped a shoulder, allowing her robe to fall away, exposing her breast. His nostrils flared as heat flooded through him.

"You want to feel better? Get on your knees."

Oh, she'd sunk to her knees without hesitation.

“ _Crawl_ Lizzie. Show me how sorry you are.”

Ah. A spasm of something flashed across her face. Maybe he had finally hit her wall? But no, she’d set her face and lowered herself like a cat on all fours, slinking across the floor to him. She stopped at his feet, her big eyes speechlessly pleading with him.

He fisted his hands in her hair, hauling her up towards him, bringing his face to hers.

“Your safety is of great importance to me,” he said harshly, “I have and will continue to put your life above mine and that of my associates. I would appreciate it if you would keep that in mind and act accordingly.”

She nodded, biting her lip, tears falling from her eyes.

He released her, sure that his point had been made. Something in his chest was eased, seeing her there at his feet, tearful and repentant.

She rested her head against his knee as he stroked her hair.

She hadn't eaten again. That was the second night in a row. He would need to keep an eye on her. In the meantime, he stood.

“Come, Lizzie, I’ll make you something to eat.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day had been virtually silent. Until Red had beckoned her into the bedroom later in the evening.

She knelt on the bed now, her hands behind her head, fingers intertwined. She was afraid. She hadn't been really afraid at any point since they had started playing this twisted game. And she wasn't now because of anything that had changed with him.

But because he had one more piece of power over her.

He must know, surely.

Holding a long stemmed rose by the head, he dragged it across the ivory skin of her back. She felt him move behind her, felt his breath at her neck.

"Did you _enjoy_ your little tour guide?"

What? Where had that come from?

He drew a thorny stem across her back. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath as she felt a thorn pierce her skin.

"Well, Lizzie?" He reached to cup her breast and squeezed so hard she cried out, tears pricking her eyes like the thorns pricked her skin.

He flicked a thorny stem at her back.

"Red?"

He twisted her nipple cruelly. "Did he _entertain_ you sufficiently? Did I get my money's worth? Hmmm?"

They weren't really playing, she realized. He was still very angry but for different reasons than she had supposed.

Yes, he'd been terrified for her safety, yes he'd been embarrassed in front of his people but right now he was mostly...

Jealous.

She smiled. She could work with that.

She arched into him. Well, she was going to play with fire.

"You're not...jealous? Are you Red?" She dared.

She felt a hand grip the scruff of her neck. He held her like a kitten and shook her roughly.

"I recall telling you once before what I thought of jealousy," he growled.

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, you're more of a do as I say, not as I do, kinda guy.”

He hadn't made a noise but she could almost feel his outrage.

“ _That_...was rude.”

She shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalance, secretly delighted by his reaction.

And then she felt a sting of pain as he struck across her upper back with the rose stem, thorns cutting into her flesh.

Alarm surged through her as she felt warm droplets of blood well up from torn flesh.

"Perhaps I should tie you up and deposit you at his front door. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Again and again, he whipped her with the thorned stem, slashing across her. She was aroused and genuinely frightened at the same time. Blood was running freely down her back now.

She knew it was unwise but the words came before she could swallow them: "I like the part where you tie me up."

He was breathing heavily, she could hear his ragged intake of breath as she said it.

He put a trembling hand on her back as though to steady her, but it was he who was shaking.

And all at once, she didn't want to tease him anymore. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to comfort him and be reassured herself.

"Red...he's just a baby," she breathed.

She heard him exhale. "He's closer in age to you than you are to...me."

She wiggled herself backwards on the bed, craving skin to skin contact, pushing her ass into his groin. "Is that what you think about when you're fucking me? Our age difference?"

His hands gripped her ass cheeks painfully, squeezing and pinching her. As long as he was touching her, she thought. As long as his hands were on her, she didn't think she gave a damn how painful it was. She threw her head back, losing herself in his firm grip.

“Is this what you want, Lizzie?” He whispered, almost sadly.

That brought her back with a jolt. He hadn't asked her that since Mexico.

"Yes. All of it. All of you..." She said confidently. She'd never been so sure of anything in her life.

His hands drifted from her back to her hips. His fingers, coated with her blood were smearing her skin. The metallic scent reached her nostrils, making her gag reflex spasm. It was disgusting, but it was the most erotic thing he'd ever done to her and she wanted more.

He moved a bloody finger to her entrance, spreading her juices, thrusting into her and curling inside of her.

She whimpered, allowing herself to enjoy the frisson of heat shooting through her.

He withdrew his fingers from her and took the rest of the roses from the vase on the nightstand, scattering them over the bed.

“Arms down,” he commanded in a smoky voice. He pushed her onto her back, on the bed.

She fell onto the flowers he’d scattered, wincing as they dug into her already tender flesh.

He covered her body with his, pushing her further into the roses with his weight

 Her breath was coming in little trills of discomfort now as every movement he made on top of her caused her back to rub against the thorny bed of flowers.

He lined himself up, and mercilessly drove himself into her, setting a punishing rhythm. Coaxing a rose into her hand and covering it with his, he closed her fingers around the stem.

She shuttered her eyes in anticipation, knowing what was coming next. He squeezed his fingers around hers and she felt the thorns bite deeply into the flesh of her hand.

She moaned, burrowing her head against his shoulder. And he felt the wetness of her tears against his bare flesh.

* * *

 

“There,” he said, his voice soft and warm. He’d just applied the last of the antiseptic cream. He’d kissed every part of her back before he’d washed her gently down with warm water and applied cream and dressing.

His voice caressed her, licked at her insides, twisting painfully through her.

She felt drunk and heartsick. She smiled weakly as he turned her around to look at him. She reached a hand to his shoulder, running her fingers down his arm. He hadn't escaped unscathed, his skin red and raw from their tumble.

He touched his forehead to hers, smiling slightly.

It was little gestures like this that would kill her, she thought.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking a turn I hadn't looked too closely at until now. Fair warning. Chapters from here on in are getting darker.
> 
> So very grateful for FilmsareFriends who beta's this for me. The whole Lizzington community is...splendid.
> 
> Disclaimed.

Island time. Time that runs slower, in a pleasant, jelly like haze. Getting up with the sun and going to bed as its sets. No rush, no pressing obligations. Sand trickling through the hourglass.

That's what this was.

He’d told her to meditate. He’d even sat with her for hours, showing her breathing exercises, telling her stories while she got used to the restriction that the ropes entailed. He’d been patient, explaining everything he was doing and why. Starting small, he’d shown her a new tie each day.

Today she was bound in what he’d said was a reverse ebi tie. She was on her stomach, her arms and legs tied tightly behind her, rope looping around her neck, her arms, her ankles. It was just a fancy hogtie, she’d thought when he first tried this. But it was more than that. He spent hours going over her naked body as though she were a masterpiece he had a lifetime to perfect. Each knot had to be perfectly symmetrical. The detail was marvelous, even she could see that and she had none of his eye for aesthetics.

He’d put his usual stamp on the work today. She knew she looked a pretty picture. He’d taken photos.

She felt a burn in her shoulders and back, the slow ache of being immobilized for extended periods of time. Closing her eyes now, she day dreamed of the first day he’d started rope play in earnest. They’d moved to the mainland, to a townhouse in the city. He’d shown her smaller ties before then, nothing that fully immobilized her but that day he’d asked her to stretch, get oiled up and nude. He’d been so present, watching and guiding every stretch, his hands running over her slick body.

It was important, he’d said. She was going to be still for a very long time and he’d be tying her up each day for longer and longer periods so she needed to make sure her muscles were loose before and after.

He'd spent the longest time on each knot, undoing it if it wasn't absolutely perfect. He hadn't talked, concentrating heavily on his work, giving her the occasional smile, stroking her face, hair and skin reassuringly. She'd been in heaven. When his attention was focused solely on her, she felt like the only woman in the world.

And she'd ruthlessly pushed away thoughts of the person who'd told her that making a woman feel this way was a talent of his.

He'd left her there for an hour, then day after day she'd gone a little longer, each time he rubbed her down like an athlete after a workout. She hadn't been professional about it though, like an athlete would. She thought about it now with a rush of heat shooting through her. She had taken such pleasure in the massage he gave her at the end of each day.  She would arch into his touch, squealing as he rubbed her tight, sore muscles.

It was the only time he would make love to her gently, after he’d tied her in the silken ropes. He worshiped her body afterwards, as though she really were a work of art.

She dreamed of him at night, and daydreamed of him during the day. His hands, his mouth, his eyes, searching inside of her, knowing her, divining her desires, the things she wanted that were so dark that she struggled to utter them at all.

“ _Keen_?”

Her eyes popped open. Oh no. She knew that voice. The only thing that could be worse than this was if Sam were still alive and had walked into the room. She lifted her head, awkwardly angling herself to look towards the door.

“What on Earth?” Cooper whispered, horrified, scanning the room wildly, looking for her captor.

She cringed, this was going to turn into the most awkward scene of her life very shortly. What was he doing here?

“Sir...this is actually not what it looks like, believe it or not.”

He crouched over her, respectfully trying not to touch her more than he had to, looking for a way to untie the ropes.

“No, no, you should go. I’m fine, I promise. And if Red gets-”

“Well, hello Harold. Aren't you the lucky one. She never calls _me_ Sir.”

She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. If her shoulders had any space to slump, she thought, they certainly would have.

He came further into the room, into her line of vision, calmly chewing on a handful of pistachio’s. Cooper stepped back, alarmed and uncertain.

His insouciant smile and the glitter in his eyes made her heart sink. This wasn't about to get any easier. Red was in full scale showtime mode. He was in control of the scene and she didn't think he was in the mood to gratify her modesty.

Cooper’s head was whipping from Red to Lizzie, confusion and disgust warring on his face.

“Reddington, do you want to tell me what’s going on here? I think I’m owed an explanation.”

Red popped a pistachio into his mouth and grinned maddeningly.

“I don't owe you anything at all. In fact, I'd say the shoe is quite definitely on the other foot.”

He gestured to an armchair, “Have a seat, Harold. You didn't follow the instructions I gave you, but you’re here now. Anything you see here that you’d prefer to have not known about is entirely your own fault.”

Cooper ignored him, hearing Lizzie groan softly after Red’s little speech, he took a step toward her. “Liz, are you okay?”

“She’s fine Harold. Completely her choice. Lizzie, tell him.”

She sighed. “ _Cooper_ ,” she said, pointedly not calling him sir a second time, “This is a...private thing. Between me and Reddington. It’s entirely of my own will.”

“You’re naked and tied up, it doesn't really look to be of your own will, to be honest with you,” he said, his face radiating concern. “More importantly,” he continued, turning accusing eyes onto Red, “claiming that this young woman has a choice is disingenuous and quite frankly, I wouldn't have thought it worthy of you, Reddington. What exactly do you expect her to do if she wants to say no? Where would she go?”

That had been a direct hit. Red’s face tightened, his lips compressed into a thin line. He turned and left the room.

“Red!” she cried, “where are you going?”

He stalked straight back into the room, a thick folder in his hand. He handed it to Cooper.

“This is all you need. I was going to organize to have it delivered to you this afternoon, but you’re welcome to it now. Identities and funds for both you and Charlene. Is there anything else?”

He clearly thought there was something else by the expression on his face. He looked about to say more but Red stalled him, putting a hand up.

“I don't choose to say anything further about my relationship with Elizabeth. You’ve heard from her own lips that she’s here by choice.”

Cooper deliberately looked at Lizzie again, “One word from you Liz, it's all I need.”

She winced, closing her eyes. He meant well but he was leaving her with a mess that she’d probably spend days cleaning up. She took a breath and let it out slowly, focusing on her breathing as Red had taught her.

“Honestly,” she began in a soft, reassuring voice. “I’m fine. I’m where I want to be.”

He nodded stiffly, turning to leave the room, the folder clutched tightly at his side. He didn't acknowledge Red, even as he offered a cheeky wave goodbye.

Red turned to look at Lizzie after Cooper had left. Her eyes were open again, dolefully looking back at him. If it had been anyone else he might have laughed at the comedy of the situation. He wanted to laugh still, perhaps because his usual light hearted dismissiveness had been his armor for such a long time now. And laughing had served as a good defense against his own self hatred. But this was Lizzie and she disliked being laughed at.

He knelt down onto the hard timber floor, running his hand along the rope that bound her legs and arms, reaching for the right knot to undo.

“What are you doing?”

“Untying you.”

“I thought you wanted me to try for longer?”

It should have pleased him, her willingness. She was game, he’d give her that but Cooper’s words were echoing in his head and his self loathing had come to the fore. He was a monster, taking advantage of a woman who relied on him. What was her alternative? Capture? The Cabal's tender mercies? That was no choice at all.

He felt acid in his stomach. Couldn't she give him her safeword? All the things he had done to and with her, she’d never drawn back, never refused him. He winced, imagining her desperate and trapped in this twisted relationship.

“Red? Red?”

How long had she been calling him? He blinked. “Yes, Lizzie?”

She gave him a meaningful look. “What’s it going to be? Am I staying here or are you untying me?”

His face tightened again. Damn her, she knew him well enough to know she could give him her safe word and it would be over in a second. She knew he'd leave forever if she wanted him to and she'd never want for a thing. Money, security, power, half his business, if she'd wanted it.

He began untying her, thinking hollowly of the old catch cry of more than one biblical king. Even unto half my kingdom; hadn't that been the promise of impassioned kings of old on receiving what they desired from young girls not in a position to deny them?

She was his Salome. What did that make him?

She was looking at him, her piercing eyes searching for something. She appeared troubled.

"Red, tell me something?"

“What?”

“On the pier, that day. You said something to those men. What did you say?”

He flinched. He'd been angry and had felt mean as a snake that day. He hadn't meant it. He'd prefer she didn't know.

“Please tell me,” she persisted

He sighed. “Beauty is the wisdom of women, wisdom is the beauty of men. It's an old proverb.”

She jerked her arm away from him. Her jaw set in aggrieved lines. "You don't think very much of me, do you?” She whispered. “Maybe it's not me who's trapped in this relationship.”

She stood up, the loose ropes cascading off of her, her face averted as she walked away from him. He remained there, crouched by the pile of ropes, his mouth slightly open in shock. ****  


* * *

She had shrugged some clothes on and gone into town. He let her. She knew she’d have security following her and as long as she never tried to shake them off, he didn't try and stop her from going where she willed.

It was his tacit admission of his share of fault in what had happened the day of her little excursion.

She was angry and hurt. He’d humiliated her many times before and the flames had licked deliciously low in her belly, the heat of public shame, the feeling of surrendering control, allowing him to embarrass her, drawing her out and arousing her. She’d loved it, she acknowledged to herself but she’d never felt the way she did this morning.

Her shame this time wasn't arousing. It made her want to curl in on herself and weep. It hurt to envision his expression in her mind as he told Cooper he didn't want to talk about their relationship. There had been something in his face, something distant and ugly. He hadn’t cared at all that he’d exposed her to someone she saw as a paternal figure. He seemed to find it funny.

And then what he'd said on the pier. She burned, thinking of it. Not a pleasant, low heat, but an insidious, toxic, searing pain.

He didn't love her, didn't even think that well of her. She couldn't do this. She wanted him so badly, it just hurt so much. She would tell him. She would leave him. Cooper had been wrong. She'd never felt obligated to stay or fearful of the alternative. Truth be told, she hadn't considered an alternative, her whole existence was wrapped up so tightly in him.

She pondered her options now. She dismissed Tom almost immediately, but stopped, lingering over his memory, realizing with curious pleasure that she felt no pain, it had slipped away without her even noticing. That wound had healed. She felt she could even see him again as a friend, and it wouldn't hurt or produce any uncomfortable craving for what had been. That was a surprise to her, she held that realization to herself closely. She was strong. It would be fine.

She had walked back to the townhouse, using her time in the bright afternoon sun to plan. She had no doubt in her mind that he'd give her his services to keep ahead of the cabal. She determined that he wasn't going to send her to the ends of the Earth though. _She_ would decide where she was going.

She turned into the gated front garden and stopped short. Red was sitting on the steps at the entrance of the townhouse.

"Thank you for coming back."

She snorted. "How far would I have gotten if I'd tried to run?"

"I wouldn't have stopped you, Lizzie," he said somberly, "I would have sent security with you...but I wouldn't have stopped you."

Her expressive mouth screwed up in disbelief, and she raised an eyebrow.

“How long have you been waiting here?”

“Since you left.”

“It’s been hours.”

“I know.”

“Don't you have better things to do with your time?”

“I can't think of anything better than waiting for you, Lizzie.”

She swallowed. Her resolve was weakening. She tried to summon all the feelings of hurt she'd been experiencing just an hour before, but found she couldn't. She wanted him.

Alright, she'd stay. But she'd negotiate and negotiate hard. What did they say about a good negotiator? Start from a place of strength.

"I want you to tell me how long you've been in contact with Cooper. And I want to know if you've been in contact with anyone else from the task force. And a lot more besides that but let's start there."

He hesitated. He knew how to read people, prided himself on it. And he knew to his bones that if he denied her this right now she'd walk. And as much as he'd been telling himself for months that it would be better for her if she did, he suddenly knew that he was far too selfish to allow it. He should be ashamed, he thought. But he couldn't even summon that. All he felt was a wretched, snarling in his chest. A blinding need to keep her, at any cost.

He said he'd never lied to her and he hadn't, he wouldn’t. But he'd manipulate her, he knew all the ways. Hadn't she bared her soul to him and let him into her deepest, darkest crevices? He'd use it, use everything she'd given him freely to have her, to hold her to him.

This was just another milonga

"Harold contacted me a few weeks ago, needing my help. Charlene was released but he got wind of an arrest warrant for himself. I organised transport out of the U.S. He was supposed to meet me downtown this afternoon for handover of the documents but he spoke to some locals who just happened to speak Vietnamese, which Harold also happens to speak and he got enough information to find this safe house. That's what my people have determined in the last few hours.

“I guess you did keep yourself busy then.”

He raised an eyebrow, "I'm still responsible for your safety, Lizzie. And to answer your other question, I have made contact with agent Navabi only once and was rebuffed. We had an understanding while I was working with the FBI, but apparently she doesn't feel that applies any longer."

They stared at each other silently, still as statues, the hot afternoon sun beating down on them both.

“I want to know about my mother.”

“No.”

“Okay, tell me about my father.”

“No.”

“Why did we leave Mexico?”

Lord, he thought. This wasn't a milonga, this was _fencing_. And she’d come to the duel ready to pink him.

“Agent Ressler sent a team. They were close.”

“Why couldn't you tell me that at the time?” she asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“We’re going to need to move again. Today. Hours ago preferably. Harold’s sleuthing was unfortunate. I liked the furniture,” he said in a faux mournful voice.

She huffed. Oh well, she’d gotten something at least. But she was going to get more.

“Are you going to start remembering that I’m a qualified professional and you can at least trust me with information even if you don't want me in the field?”

He studied her carefully. His face gave away nothing of his thoughts.

She waited.

“I’m meeting with a contact in a few days. You can come.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.” His eyes softened. “Lizzie, will you come inside and pack a bag?” he asked.

She let him guide her inside.

* * *

The new safe house wasn’t nearly as comfortable. A one bedroom flat above a noisy restaurant on the waterfront.

It made Lizzie nervous. She really wasn’t sure what their new understanding entailed. Did he still want her in his bed? She wished fervently that they’d procured a bigger place. If he’d deposited their belongings in separate rooms she would have known what to think.

And she would have died a little inside.

As it was, she was hiding in the bathroom, fiddling about with her toothbrush, putting things away, taking them out again and putting them in different drawers. And wondering if she’d made the right decision.

“Chicken,” she muttered to herself.

There was no more putting it off. He was in the living room and it was late. She would have to go and ask or stay in the bathroom all night.

She made her way slowly down the darkened hall to the softly lit living room. Red was reclined on an old couch that looked like it had seen better days. He looked so comfortable and happy in his plain cotton pajama pants and sleep shirt, it made her heart ache. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and was just reaching for a book on the coffee table when he looked up, smiling at her.

He proffered the book to her. “Look what I found in the book case. Will you let me read it to you, Lizzie?”

She smiled uncertainly but then he held his hand out to her and she went to him, hesitation had fled.

He pulled her into his arms on the couch, her head tucked under his chin, and her hair floating in his face. Burrowing his nose into her sweet smelling hair, he inhaled her scent, luxuriating in the weight of her body nestled against his.

“Oscar Wilde’s Salome,” he said softly, “It's a play and it's in French, you don't mind do you?”

“That sounds just fine.”

He heard, rather than saw the smile in her voice.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this
> 
> Disclaimed

Liz paced awkwardly at the front door. She’d never been the kind of person who took ages to get ready. Ten minutes was ten minutes, not forty five. She was learning fast that Red certainly was that kind of person. 

Running her fingers over a marble statue in the hall, she thought of Cambodia with a pang. She missed it. Despite the initial loneliness and the uncomfortable power struggle with Red, she had liked the locals, picking up a little more of the language each day. Red hadn't said anything when she’d gone to meet Chea again. He’d raised an eyebrow and given her an oddly...sheepish smile. But he hadn't said a word, only suggesting that she take a fruit basket along for the family.

Cheeky.

He’d taken Cooper’s intrusion to heart, increasing security and removing them entirely from that part of the world. She had been getting used to the slow pace of a tropical existence and a removal to Belarus had been jarring.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed Red until his arms were around her, the familiar weight of his chin resting on her shoulder.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Sure, it’s just a meeting with a friend right? What's there to be ready for?”

“Quite right. So why do you seem so uneasy?”

“I don't know. Why do I have to wear this dress?” She complained, gesturing to the pretty, above knee, turquoise number. “I’m meant to be your associate, not your arm candy.”

“You can be both,” he purred. “I can't help it if my associate looks like candy in a dress.”

It was probably a lucky thing that he couldn't see the expression on her face just then.

 

* * *

He’d handed her a weapon before they’d left. A pink Beretta Nano. She’d given him her best unimpressed look in return.

A Barbie Doll’s weapon. 

Her fingers nervously stroked her purse now. She could feel the gun burning a hole through it. She felt exposed, as though everyone in the hotel must know she was carrying. She hadn't had a weapon in her hands since the moment she’d dropped the gun after shooting Connolly. Perhaps he hadn’t given her the opportunity because he knew how she’d feel?

How did she feel? She wasn't sure if it was just nerves at being given a task again, however small, or if she was no longer comfortable with the idea of being armed.

She hoped it was the former.

He took her upper arm firmly, steering her through the lobby. She remembered a time when she’d seethe at his proprietary touches, the way he’d grip and turn her as though she were a doll. He hadn’t done it often back then, but when he had, she recalled wanting to stick her elbow into his side. 

“You’ll wait at the bar, keep a lookout.”

“A lookout? I thought I was meeting your contact with you?”

He shook his head decisively. "You're far more useful down here. That's what you wanted isn't it?"

Her mouth twisted in understanding. "Right. Fine. I'll keep a 'lookout'. I'll just be here then," she said flatly, setting herself at a nearby table. He gave her a reproving look. She watched him turn from her toward the elevators, resentment bubbling up in her.

She ordered a drink and sat glumly, nursing it. She’d been full of hope that things were ‘fixed’. That slow, creeping feeling that he’d always seen her as a mess that he had to manage had been blown away like smoke. She thought he had trusted her, he had practically admitted his mistake in the way he'd been treating her by allowing her to come as his associate today.

Apparently not.

She had to stop herself from grinding her teeth, a habit she’d picked up in the past year, giving her intense headaches. She rolled her shoulders, straightening her spine in a small stretch, twisting her neck gently to each side.

As she rolled her head, out of the corner of her eye she caught a look at two men sitting up at the bar. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what had caught her attention about them.

There was something...new? No, not new. Their clothes didn't fit quite right. The one furthest from her, his collar was popped and his haircut was not typical of a man who popped his collar. His body language didn't give it off either. 

She continued to observe them out of the corner of her eye. Was she imagining things? 

She smiled at her server and ordered another drink, calculating her options. She counted exits. The lobby or the kitchens. There were the bathrooms but who knew if there'd be a window she could climb out of.

Red.

Maybe she should take an elevator. Go and find him. She pictured his fury if she went upstairs and found she was just jumping at shadows. She wasn't sure she'd risk it just yet, based on a hunch about some random customer's collar and haircut.

She slid out of her chair, wandering to the bathroom, deliberately relaxing her pace, forcing her arms to hang loosely at her side, her fingers curled casually around her purse. She slanted a look at the two men at the bar as she sidled past them. 

Yes, they'd both reacted. Not tensing exactly. It was almost imperceptible but there had been...an awareness of her that had increased as she got close to them.

She locked herself in a bathroom stall, taking steady breaths. In and out, slow and deep, from the belly, not the chest. She could practically hear Red's voice instructing her. What would he suggest now? For that matter, what would she suggest? She was the criminal profiler. Who were those men out there? She startled suddenly, realizing they could be Red's. It would be just like him to neglect to tell her he had a full security detail downstairs.

But she had become more familiar with the men he had around them, following them from Mexico to Cambodia and now here. He didn't tend to beef up security when he was around, only when she was by herself. Trading off a low profile for her protection, she supposed. Well, those two out at the bar were strangers to her. 

She opened the door of her stall carefully, peering about the bathroom. Still empty. There was a skylight but no window. No exit here.

She moved past the men again, noting no reaction this time--an almost studied indifference to her presence, as she slid past them.

Back in her seat she scanned the room casually, attempting a bored expression.

With a shock, she realized they were everywhere. 

A man in a suit, she'd be damned if he'd worn a suit and tie before, save for weddings, funerals and job interviews. He looked uncomfortable. 

The room was full of undercover agents.

There were no women. That was foolish, she thought. They could have tried for just a bit of realism. What were they waiting for? Red to come back to the bar?

That was most likely. She needed an out. And a way to warn him.

She recalled an evening almost two years ago now. Red in a suit and tie, asking her to tell him his profile. Ordering a drink for her. Leaving the table so suddenly, heading through to the kitchen...and pulling the fire alarm.

Another deep breath. God she hoped she was right. She didn't want to think about how tense things would be afterwards if she was wrong.

She stood again, her chin held high, smiling at the bartender who was currently pouring a drink for one of the two men.

Sashaying past the bar, she made a beeline for the kitchen, carefully keeping her steps light and confident, unrushed. She belonged there, she told herself. Perfectly natural to push through the doors of the kitchen, smile and wave at the kitchen hand staring at her now, open mouthed. 

She breezed through to the back door, spotting the fire alarm just at the moment she caught the eye of a looming chef. He frowned, heading towards her, his intent to remove her quite clear.

She hurtled towards the wall and wrenched the alarm, sounding loud bells throughout the kitchen and she assumed the bar as well.

The entire staff moved like ants in a nest, scurrying everywhere, shouts and yells coming from all directions. She gestured towards the bar expansively, wearing her best look of wide eyed fright on her face.

"Fire!" She threw her arms up wildly, pointing to the bar again. "Fire!"

Excellent. There was a rush to the front of the house. She turned to the back door, praying it would open with no trouble.

It did. She slipped out, toeing off her heels, throwing them into a nearby dumpster. It would be easier to go barefoot now, even considering the attention she'd call to herself.

She ran.

Adrenaline served her well for perhaps the first half hour. She didn’t really plan any particular route. She ran, then jogged, and when her feet were sore and her heart wasn't pounding quite as hard, she slowed to a limping walk. 

She checked over her shoulder. She could hardly believe she hadn’t been followed.

Or perhaps she had.

She’d meant to make her way back to their safe house but what if? What if this was the plan all along? Track her back to the lair. She had nothing, no money, no phone. She had a gun. That was it.

And she’d left Red behind.

A large part of her wanted to make a beeline for the safe house, was furious at herself for leaving him, but she only had to imagine his look of resigned frustration at her stupidity if she were caught.

Think, dammit, think. 

The jet. If she could get to the jet, she might find some of his team there. Her shoulders slumped. She’d be walking for hours in bare feet and a skimpy little dress in the middle of the day.

No help for her then.

 

* * *

A knock at the hotel room door. “Mr. Reddington?”

“Come,” he spoke tersely, hoping for news, any news.

His man entered the room with a phone in his hand.

“It’s Burley. He’s at the hangar. Says he has Ms. Elizabeth all safe.”

He groped for the phone, the muscles in his stomach loosening all at once, his bowels turned to water.

****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

She’d been so relieved to make it to the hangar, almost sobbing with gratitude at a few familiar faces. She knew Red retained his small crew on twenty four hour standby, so they’d be her best bet. She’d walked the whole way.

They’d made the phone call to him on her behalf, anxiously attempting to accommodate her in the particularly unaccomodating small hangar while they flurried about asking Red on the phone for further instruction. There was a small office, they showed her the bathroom, let her freshen up as best as she could, sweaty, dusty and tired as she was in that little dress.

She never wanted to see the damn dress again.

Red had gotten out. Yes, the hotel had been swarmed with FBI agents. It had been a near thing. They’d been on high alert, ready to be wheels up at any moment.

Wait, they'd said. He was coming and they'd be in the sky in an hour.

The pilot had given her his lunch. Tuna sandwich and an apple. She was so hungry, so sore. She slumped over on an office chair and waited for him.

She glanced up as the door to the office opened, the welcoming light in her eyes fading as she saw the look on his face.

“Where were you?” He demanded without preamble, his voice full of heavy breath and thunder.

“I didn't think it would be safe...to go back. So I came here.”

“Once again, I have put my people under unnecessary risk because-”

“No, Red, it wasn’t like that!”

“Do NOT interrupt me when I am speaking!”

She looked at him, stunned and furious, her jaw thrust forward in indignation. If he’d just listen to her, it would make sense.

“You asked me a question,” she said evenly. “You need to let me finish.”

He raised an eyebrow, his face still hard and unrelenting.

“I picked up some things that didn't feel right about the people in the bar with me. I was pretty sure they were FBI. I pulled the alarm and ran. It seemed the only thing to do in the circumstances. It’s what _you_ did once upon a time. I also figured if they were onto us, the safe house was probably not usable anymore.”

He frowned.

“Red, it was the FBI. I did good. Don’t be like this”

His face eased a little. He took his hat off, placing it onto the top of a filing cabinet. He nodded at her, sighing. “So you panicked. I can understand Lizzie.”

“No I didn't _panic_. I thought long and hard about what to do and I think I made the right call. We’re both here aren't we?”

He cocked his head to the side, crossing the room toward her, arms stretched out, inviting her. She stood for his embrace, craving softness, his gentleness, the warmth he'd shown her the other night in the apartment above the restaurant.

He was tender at first, pressing her into his arms, stroking little circles at the small of her back, but his hands became slowly more insistent, rough against her bare arms, gripping her tighter, exploring her intrusively. He crushed her to him so tightly, she struggled to breathe.

“Lizzie,” he said, a strange urgency in his voice. “I need this, I need this.” His hands tugged roughly at her hair. “ _God_ , I'd rest easier if I could lock you up and throw away the key,” he muttered desperately, his mouth already at her throat, his hands now wandering to the curve of her bottom, pushing her dress up around her waist, gripping her hips, hard and mean. He lifted her onto the desk, heedless of the objects on it, digging into her. He yanked her panties down her legs, flinging them aside.

What had he meant by _that_?

A sliver of confusion worked its way through her heart. She didn't want this, not here, not right now. She wanted him to acknowledge her. She’d been so level headed, she’d proven herself very able to handle anything. He’d never stinted reasonable praise before at a job well done. Why was he withholding it now?

He made her feel weak and hysterical. She hadn’t been though. She’d been great in her own estimation.

She felt like a ragdoll as he unzipped himself and pushed like a fumbling boy into her, underpants and trousers around his knees, a harsh groan of satisfaction bubbling from him as he thrust himself deep inside her.

“ _Oh God_.”

She held onto him, her arms tight around his neck, her heart hurting.

“ _Lizzie_...”

She had been amazing dammit. Would he even be free now if it weren't for her?

“You belong to me, sweetheart.”

Her heart unfroze slightly. She was his. She brushed his lips with her own, meeting his thrusts with her hips, opening her legs wider, letting him in further. She hadn't wanted it, had wanted to feel his gentle caress and warm embrace instead, but she couldn't help but respond to his panting breaths, his demanding growl in her ear.

“Turn around,” he grunted, pulling out of her.

“What?” She said in confusion.

He turned her roughly around and bent her over the desk. What was he doing? He had a hand at the small of her back, pushing her down. With the other…

She could hear the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh, his ragged, shuddering breath. She waited, fascinated and horrified as his hot spurts landed on her back, her bottom and thighs.

He wasn't satisfied. He leant over her, reaching for a ruler that had been lying on the desk.

He didn't stop, didn't ask or explain, just swatted her across her bottom with a swing in his arm, using the flat of the ruler.

She cried out. Not understanding. Was she being punished?

“Red?” she pleaded through thick tears.

He was grunting with each swing. “It’s alright, it's alright,” he panted. But it wasn't alright. What did he want from her?

One hand was still at the small of her back, holding her down, as he swung with the other. The slap of the ruler as he swung hard and fast was jarring. She was sobbing openly now.

If he was punishing her, this wasn't just. If he was scratching an itch, this wasn’t kind or fair.

“Please Red,” she choked through her tears.

He slowed. “Your safe word Lizzie, use it,” he paused altogether for a moment, leaning over her, his voice loud in her ear, ‘I want it, I want to hear you say it. You need to give it to me, Lizzie.”

A cold fist of anger wrapped its way around her heart. She didn't deserve this. She had saved them.

The ruler wasn't too painful. He could probably break the flimsy thing over her and it would only cause a sting. But she felt the injustice of it as keenly as any whip against her skin.

He wouldn't give her any credit. Wouldn't give her what she craved from him, what she'd been working so hard for. Why did he even want her to give him her safe word?

She retreated into sullen silence. If he wouldn't give her what she wanted, then he didn't get what he wanted either.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FilmsareFriends for her beta'ing and the usual suspects for all their encouragement and involvement :)

* * *

 

He clicked his fingers at her in the small plane, pointing to a seat. She bristled at his smug self assurance. The man reminded her right then of a sleek cat with a mouse caught firmly between its paws.

And she was the mouse.

“I need to get cleaned up,” she said flatly, declining to sit on the seat he’d directed her to.

“It can wait, we’ll only be in the air a few hours.”

She blinked back furious tears and sat where he’d indicated. Her skin was stiff with sweat and his fluids. She hadn’t been able to do much more than wash her face and hands in the bathroom before Red had arrived and she felt much dirtier now than before she had washed.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a house in Bulgaria, the capital. Dembe is meeting us there. My meeting was productive despite it being cut short. We’ll be very busy for quite a while Lizzie. There’s a lot for us to do.”

She looked out the window, studiously avoiding his gaze. She could feel his eyes on her. She didn't need to look at him to know he was sitting with his legs slightly apart, arms spread out along the backrest of the seat. Relaxed, poised, clean. Completely opposite to how she felt right now.

She let the silence stretch out.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She ignored him.

“Lizzie,” he said again, in a sing song voice.

“ _Lizzie_ ,” his voice changed, deepening to a gravelly command. Her head unwillingly turning to him.

“Come here.”

She stiffly moved to stand in front of him. He reached his hand out to hers, taking it in both hands, kissing her captured hand playfully.

“Come sit in my lap.”

“There's plenty of room, I don't need to sit in your lap."

"But I want you to," he said, gently pulling her down into him.

She sat perched on his knee, her back straight, looking away from him. His hands stroked her hair and cheek.

"You're upset with me," he said, a statement rather than a question.

"Yes,"

His arms circled her waist, gently but inexorably pulling her into him.

"Tell me why you're upset, Lizzie," his hand was stroking her arm now.

She _knew_ he would twist her words, ghost past her objections over his recent treatment of her, misdirect and disorient her. And she found she just didn't have the stomach for it.

She drooped into his arms, allowing him to hold her closer to his chest. "I want to be clean," she responded lamely as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

He chuckled. "But I can smell myself on you, sweetheart." He sniffed deeply at her neck, sending threads of arousal spreading through her body. “And you smell just fine.” He pulled her tighter to him. "We'll get you cleaned up soon. You can indulge in a long bath when we arrive."

 

* * *

 

A long bath was putting it mildly. She filled the tub up twice after it got too cold. Her fingers and toes were as shriveled as old prunes when she got out, wrapping herself up in a robe, luxuriating in the pleasant feeling of being warm and clean.

She deliberately put aside the incident in the hangar. He hadn’t behaved well. But he’d been out of his mind with worry for her.

She didn't manage to keep her eyes open through dinner. Red laughed gently at her as she tipped to the side, her elbow smashing into her food. He'd guided her to bed, stumbling along in his arms, exhausted. All the adrenaline of her escape and flight had deserted her.

She could sleep for a million years. She wanted to lie in his arms but he hushed her, telling her he'd be in later. He had calls to make.

She slept.

In the small hours of the morning he came to bed. He stood above her, watching her in the darkness for some time, just thinking.

He knew he was not a good man. He felt it more than ever at times such as these, watching her face softened in sleep.

When she woke, she wandered through the house, admiring the coziness of the furnishings. He had said this was his house. Not a borrowed bolthole or mansion. His.

It was late afternoon. She'd slept almost the entire day. She searched for him and found him seated in an old wicker chair in the high walled garden outside.

It was a delicious garden, like in the books Sam had read to her as a child.

“Hey,” she said softly, fastening her robe around her.

He smiled, opening his arms, the dark clouds of the previous day had drifted far. She allowed him to fold her into his arms, curling into his lap. Her legs twined around his, her body fitting itself snugly against him.

“Lizzie, I have a proposition for you,” he said carefully.

“What?”

“There’s a...party I’ve secured an invitation to. I’ll be attending, it's too good an opportunity to pass up. I’d like you to come, too.”

She perked up. “Really?”

“It's a kink party,” he said baldly.

"Okay..."

"Not your average gathering. I fully anticipate that a member or two of the Cabal will poke their heads in. It's a who's who, shall we say...of the rich and powerful, and if I'm being entirely honest, the insanely corrupt."

"The Cabal has kink parties?"

He snorted. "Not exactly. It’s a meeting of loosely connected people with shared interests. A way to be seen. Gaining an invitation certainly sends a message. But no, it's not hosted by the Cabal. It's not truly hosted by anyone, although patrons might lend a venue. It moves from location to location and it’s been operating for over twenty years. The players haven't changed too much.”

"Alright, I'm in. What am I wearing? A cat woman costume?"

He looked pained at that. "I hope you're joking."

She grinned. "I was, but maybe not so much anymore.” She laughed. He treasured that unfettered, pure sound. “I have an idea, can we go shopping for costumes?”She took his hand and led him through the house toward the bedroom. He was going to have to disabuse her of the notion that it was a costume party.

* * *

 

They’d spent days planning.

“I want your hair to be different for this party. A shorter style, and blonde.”

She’d frowned. “Why?”

“Lizzie,” he’d said, taking her chin in his hand and kissing her senseless. He’d never needed to finish that sentence or explain further. He knew what his displays of affection did to her. And he used it when he needed to. Blowing hot and cold, watching her become more sensitive to his cold shoulder each time.

She loved the dress. He’d had it made for her. The dressmaker had come for two fittings. Once while she still had her thick, brunette hair, the other, while her hair was sleekly blonde.

It was a slinky, satin construction.  The color of red wine she’d said. The color of old blood, he'd thought, somewhat macabrely. It suited her.

She’d tried the dress on for him, parading about the house with the diamond collar he’d commissioned around her neck.

“It looks like a cat collar, Red,” she’d teased.

Her eyes grew wide as he produced a leather leash to be fastened about her neck.

Amused disbelief skittered across her face. “You can't be serious,” she said, stepping out of the dress and back into her shirt and shorts.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” said gleefully, so confident that she’d obey him in this. “You'll call me sir or master while we're there. It's not my preference,” he said. Taking her chin in his hand and turning it this way and that, examining her new hair critically. “Personally, I like my name on your lips, but it won't do where we're going.”

He kissed her again, drawing her close against him. She was oddly...trembling. He pulled back to look at her. She was shaking with the effort of holding back laughter

Catching sight of his concerned look, the dam burst and her shrieks of mirth echoed throughout the house.

“Aye, Aye! Sir!” she grinned at him with a mocking salute.

"Are you...sassing me, Lizzie?"

She chortled. “I do all the time. You never minded before.”

“I mind today,” he said, a lazy smile appearing on his face as he advanced on her.

She backed away as he closed in on her, a come hither look in her eyes at odds with her retreat. He lunged for her and she laughed as he cornered her, tossing her lightly onto the bed.

"Come here," he growled, hauling her back by her shirt as she attempted to scramble off the bed.

Oh, he loved these little games.

His blood was pounding in his ears already and he'd barely touched her. The little minx was squealing now as he pulled her over his knee

“Lizzie, if you don’t hold still…” he warned leaving the idle threat unfinished.

“You’ll do what?” She kicked her legs back at him, catching him a glancing blow in the side of his head.

“Stop it,” he said in mild annoyance, tapping her sharply on her rump. She stopped kicking, grinding herself into him instead. He reefed her shorts and panties down her legs, exposing her no longer creamy skin. Her bottom was splashed with hues of green, brown and blue. He wouldn't be able to spank her very hard tonight. The lightest touch would be enough to pull the reactions he wanted from her.

He rubbed smooth circles over her quivering ass, eliciting a breathy moan from her lips.

“Sore today?”

“A little.”

“Good,” he said with an open handed smack to her bottom. She yelped satisfyingly. He followed up with a flurry of short and sharp slaps, a little more intense than he’d intended but he couldn’t resist when she squirmed that way across his lap.

She hadn’t expected him to spank her that hard either and she was tense and still now, trembling in anticipation.

It was her stillness that provoked him. He’d told her to hold still so he had no good reasoning for this hot surge of vindictive pleasure as he pushed her further and further each time she complied.

He spanked her again and again, his hand warming almost unbearably.

“Unh, Red, please, it hurts!” She cried out to him, begging him to stop but she still hadn't given him what he wanted.

“Lizzie,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don't tell me to stop unless you want to give me your safe word."

Her begging abruptly ceased, the only sounds she made now were deep whimpers in her throat as his hand connected with her, rhythmically and unceasing.

Her bottom was scorching, his hand was stinging and he was inflamed with furious need.

He stopped, gasping a shuddering breath. "Get on the bed," he choked out.

The playful ambience had deserted them. She crawled off of him to lie in the middle of the bed on her stomach, the hunched lines of her body indicating her confusion. What had started as a teasing, light hearted game was ending up as a tense punishment. She didn't know what he wanted now. Well, he would show her.

He unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off, his hands shaking. Taking a deep breath, he gazed at her for a moment, lying quietly, waiting for him. He wanted all of her and he was going to take it. He looped his belt out of his pants casting it onto the bed and unzipped himself letting his pants fall to the ground. Reaching for a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand, he crawled across the bed, hovering over her prone body.

He wet his fingers with the oil and positioned himself at her ass, gripping her cheeks, spreading them, massaging his fingers at her puckered entrance.

"Lizzie."

"Red?" There was trepidation in her voice.

"Am I the first?"

She hesitated. "Yes," she whispered. "I don't want-" she broke off as he entered her with his index finger.

"You know how to make it stop if you don't want it."

She was silent. Her arms and legs were quivering as she tensed her entire body.

He played with her a bit longer, enjoying the feel of her tight muscles closing over his finger and the little grunts escaping her lips every time he moved inside of her. He felt a rush of guilt and desire. She was clearly not enjoying this and he was trying hard to ignore his shame at the pleasure surging through him at the thought of her discomfort.

Withdrawing his finger, he tipped a little more oil into his hand, slicking his cock with it.

"Last chance?" he said as he nudged her with the tip of his shaft.

She said nothing, only burrowing herself further into the pillows, scrabbling at the sheets.

"Relax, Lizzie, I want you to relax," he directed as he pushed slowly into her. She moaned gutturally as he sank into her.

“ _Oh god_ ,” he breathed.

He didn't move for a moment, letting her adjust to his girth, enjoying just how tight she was around him. And then he rocked his hips slightly, lowering himself on top of her, resting his elbows on either side of her arms so that his face was buried in her hair.

She whimpered unhappily.

He gradually increased his tempo, pushing against her, fighting his urge to take her roughly as her cries were becoming more and more strident, each one a pleasant caress along his spine.

"Ah, Lizzie, you're so good..." he groaned into her ear, feeling her shuddering and _clenching_ in response to his voice.

Despite her discomfort, she turned her head to him, rubbing her cheek against his. He licked at a tear resting on her eyelash, sending a palpable tremor down her body.

"You know what I want, Lizzie. Give it to me," he said with whispered menace.

She shook her head infinitesimally.

He pushed harder, faster, thinking he must be close now, she’d give it to him. She was mewling pitifully every time he thrust himself inside of her.

"Now?" He grunted.

She whimpered without responding, infuriating him.

Not thinking, almost reflexively, his hands searched the bed for his belt. He found it, drawing it towards him, looping it around her neck.

She bucked against him, panicking, her hands at her throat now.

“What are you doing?” She gasped.

"Shh, it's okay, calm down," he soothed as he thrust into her, holding her down and tightening the belt around her throat.

“Please, Red,” she begged, frightened.

“Lie still,” he used his weight, pushing himself further down onto her, his cheek resting against hers, hand around her neck, slowly drawing the belt tighter, moving faster, hips pounding.

Her face was turning a mottled red, a delicate blue vein was pulsing in her forehead, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Lizzie, nod if you want to give me your safe word.”

She gave a half nod, almost only just a twitch of her head. A rush of victorious anticipation flooded through him. He loosened the belt.

"Say it," he grunted as he released himself into her.

She shook her head again. He collapsed onto her, panting from his exertions.

“You little cheat,” he whispered.

* * *

 

He hadn’t looked at her, moving to the bathroom to clean up. But he caught her eye now, as he came back into the bedroom.

She just _looked_ at him. Shame tore through him, ripping him up. That expression was familiar. He’d seen it on her face the day she’d sat strapped to a chair, with her partial memories returned to her. He’d hoped never to see that on her face again. He deserved it, he knew he did. But the last time she’d looked at him like that, he’d almost lost her.

He couldn't afford to let her feel any pangs of indignation. So, let her think this was on her.

He gave her a cold look. “You have a safe word Lizzie. Don't look at me like that. Next time, use it."

And he left her there, sprawled on the bed alone.

****  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my usual thanks to the usual wonderful people :)  
> Disclaimed

Dembe had come to them the night before the party. It had been like old times

Well, almost. Old times had never included her over Raymond Reddington's lap, his hands absently stroking the back of her thighs, underneath her skirt simply because he felt like touching her.

He did something like that almost every day. Finding an excuse to touch her in such a way that divorced her from herself as a person and plated her up as an object.

Once he'd put his fingers in her mouth for no other reason than to tell her he could. For such an innocuous, albeit odd gesture, she had found it terribly confronting. Almost panic inducing.

Dembe’s eyes slid away from her now. His friendly gaze used to be frank and pleasant. Now he only watched her out of the corner of his eyes, a small furrow on his brow.

Red had told her in the car. _In the car_. He had another reason to be there that night. A dominant well known for his technique in caning would be there and he had agreed to demonstrate a caning to Red. Would she be his subject?

How intense would it be, she'd asked fearfully. He didn't know, couldn't tell her. But he wanted this from her. And he looked at her and only had to tell her that he knew she would, because he wanted it so _much_ and didn't she love to please him?

She’d agreed.

* * *

 

The party was being held in what appeared to be some sort of old monastery. It seemed to her like a giant James Bond themed event filled with ostentatious displays of wealth and power everywhere she looked. She thought of Tom, with his clever line. Tom Bond, he’d said, trying to pull off the confused school teacher act and doing it so well.

She laughed aloud, marveling that she _could_ laugh at an old memory of Tom.

“Lizzie?” Red enquired, his voice tight, clearly on alert.

“Nothing, just something silly.”

He gripped her upper arm, steering her inside despite the leash around her neck.

She realized as she watched him greet their hosts effusively that she didn't like him in a tux. He wasn't _hers_ in a tux like he was in his elegantly tailored three piece suits.

She kept silent as he'd instructed her. Just as he'd prepared her for, a number of finely dressed men and women were tailed by what she assumed were their submissives. You wouldn't have been able to tell who was submissive and who was dominant if you were just looking at the clothes. Everyone was dressed to the nines. It could have been the academy awards, she thought anxiously, checking her own dress for creases or sweat marks. Red had been right about this dress. She fit right in.

He guided her to a corner of the room, stopping only to select some champagne off of a waiter's tray, handing it to her. "Don't drink or eat anything," he muttered.

She nodded slightly, gripping the champagne flute by the stem. She stole a look at him from under her lashes, just in time to see his face slacken for a moment then harden. She couldn't help looking in the direction of whatever had elicited that reaction.

A man approached them with a look of recognition in his eyes. She glanced at Red again. Yes, whoever this was, he was familiar to Red.

She glanced at the floor again, remembering her instructions. Speak only when spoken to, a handy caveat for her, under the circumstances.

"Mr. Reddington, what a pleasure," he said, extending his hand.

Red cocked an eyebrow, accepting the other man's hand, shaking it briefly.

"You may not remember me? Carl Walker. We met briefly in DC. My father is on the board of Savillon."

"Uh huh," Red responded dryly. Then in an undertone, "Mr. Gale, I'm not sure how you managed to pull together a believable cover for yourself tonight but you might do well to remember there are some very dangerous people here and should they discover, for instance, that a foolhardy reporter had slipped amongst them, I have no doubt they would ensure he didn't...slip out again."

Lizzie froze. What was happening now?

He turned to her, extending his hand. "As you may have guessed," the man said in a stage whisper, taking her hand in his and promptly kissing it. "I'm probably not who I say I am. You however must be the delightful little murderess, Elizabeth Keen. Am I right?"

She felt Red step up close behind her, extracting her hand from his. "Once again," he said with an impatient bite in his voice, "You are in a room full of some of the most dangerous people on the planet.”

He smiled, putting his hands up in surrender. "Hands off the merchandise. Got it. Perhaps I'll see you later on tonight. We may have things to discuss."

Red inclined his head, his face indicating he wasn't relishing the necessity of another meeting.

She felt a white hot rush of anger. If this man thought she was just _merchandise_ , whose fault was that?

"Lizzie, I've got a few people to talk to. Remember, only speak when spoken to. I'm sure it won't be long before someone comes to satisfy their curiosity." He left her, heading to a small knot of party goers across the room.

No one did. She awkwardly stood in the corner like a damn wallflower holding a full glass of champagne that was rapidly heating up and she couldn't even god damn drink it. She could feel the train of her thoughts getting more and more agitated. He hadn't told her he was going to leave her by herself.

"So, Elizabeth," came a voice from her left. "What's a nice girl like you..." He grinned at her. "I won't finish that sentence, how appalling would that have been?"

She couldn't help but smirk back at him. Mr. Gale or Mr. Walker, whoever he was, he at least put her at her ease. He wasn't afraid to talk to her.

“So, discipline huh? You’ve been a bad girl?”

She winced.

“...Sorry, sorry! I can’t help myself. It's, ah, very different. Am I even allowed to talk to you? It won't spoil you forever if a strange guy chats you up? I mean, I once found a baby bird out of its nest, you know? Walking home from school, and I did my good deed of the day and put it back in its nest. My mom had to explain to me later that mommy bird wouldn't touch it again because it smelled me on it. Harsh right?”

She frowned. “I’ll take a guess, youngest child, basketball player, adored in high school, probably the apple of mommy’s eye, ignored by daddy until his grades started dropping because he was supposed to go to law school but ended up in a second rate college doing what? An arts degree?”

To his credit, he kept his composure, just grinned at her.

“Bingo! Wow, you’re good. Is that your party trick?”

“It’s my job.”

“ _Was_ your job.”

She took a steadying breath. Maybe this guy wasn't what she needed to put her at her ease after all.

“You know, it wasn't very well thought out. For a criminal profiler. With all of the back up, the tech, the connections you had at your disposal. I heard you got so close that you were almost injured.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not a _murderess_ ,” she hissed.

“Whoa, down tiger,” he laughed, putting his hands up. "So, convince me. We could do an interview.”

She turned away from him nervously, her eyes searching for Red. He’d deserted her completely. He was nowhere in the room.

“Does he always leave you stranded like this?”

“He trusts me to handle myself,” she said, tasting the lie as soon as she spoke the words.

“He should. You’ve been giving as good as you’ve gotten.”

She turned back to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re no shrinking violet. Does he give you credit for that?”

“He’s had his reasons to worry,” she muttered.

“And yet he exposes you to...what was it he said? Some of the most dangerous people on the planet. Heh. Sounds like he needs to make up his mind. Are you an asset or a liability?”  

She glared. He needed taking down a peg or two.

 

* * *

 

Red held a glass of champagne he had no intention of drinking and looked out into the gardens. The balcony was as good a location as any to have a private chat.

It wasn't long before the young and brash Michael Gale made a stealthy beeline for the balcony too.

“Enjoying the company tonight?” Red asked archly, knowing what a thirty something, hard nosed journalist would make of all of this.

“Ha! You’ve got me there. I have half a dozen stories all written and ready for my editor's desk by Monday. The golden age of the smartphone right?” He shot back airily.

"It was quite a surprise to see you amongst the guests tonight and I’m not often caught unaware.” He paused. “So you’re here for a story then?”

“Well, not exactly. Not a new one anyway.”

“If you’re here to talk further about the fulcrum, you’re out of luck. I’ve given you what I have. It’s up to the class to see what they can make of it.”

“That’s just it. The... _class_ has been doing some co-operating with each other. I know you know Margaret Martinez has gone missing. She was set to publish a very interesting story.”

“Is that why there have been no more expose’s then? You're afraid,” he offered with contempt.

“Wrong again teacher. We’ve been doing some digging. _Together_. And we had some questions to ask. Of you.” He shrugged. “I plucked the short straw, so here I am.”

“Ask. I won’t guarantee an answer.”

“Alright then. To the point. Masha Rostova. We’re not comfortable with what we’ve found on her, or you. We’re journalists but we’re also responsible global citizens,” he said this last part with a certain amount of impious glee, indicating that perhaps he wasn't taking this as seriously as the others had intended him to.

“I’ve never hidden my motives in bringing the Fulcrum to you.”

“No, but you did hide Ms. Rostova, or Ms. Keen, whatever she’s calling herself. It doesn't matter. The connection concerned us. No one wants to be the reporter responsible for aiding and abetting a terrorist.”

Red took a single step toward him. He was mildly impressed with the younger man’s nerve when he didn't retreat in response. But he _did_ tense.

“Be very careful, Mr. Gale. You don't have any friends here tonight.”

“The thing is,” he continued as though he hadn't heard the threat, “I’ve been talking to Elizabeth all night. The only person to come within ten feet of her actually. Why do you think that is by the way?” He didn't stop to wait for a response. “That woman is not a terrorist. I’m not even sure she _did_ murder the attorney general. She doesn’t fit the profile at all.”

“That’s not your concern and if you continue to disturb her tonight, things will not go well with you,” he said meaningfully.

“Disturb her? See, I don't think that’s what I’ve been doing. I think I’ve been down there soothing the nerves of a very gutsy, but very frightened American who is _not_ a terrorist, and possibly not a murderer, meanwhile I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on her situation.” There was a hard, challenging note to his voice now.

Red reflexively turned to look back inside at the party. He couldn’t see her from his vantage point. He turned back to Gale, a hint of irritation in his expression now.

“You’ve had your say, I won't be discussing Ms. Keen with you. Go back to the class and tell them to keep digging and start spilling. The small window of surprise is rapidly closing. If you don't strike now, they will come for you, because you have information that threatens them. It’ll be like swatting a fly.”

Red turned to move back into the party.

“What were you intending? Bringing the daughter of Katerina Rostova to a party full of KGB old blood like this...on a _leash_? What's the message? That you’re still holding all the cards? What other secrets is she keeping for you?”

He whirled around, striding back toward Gale, stepping right up into his face.

“What have you said to her?”

“Nothing. Not the time or place for it. So she doesn't know?”

“Leave now. Or you won’t leave here at all.”

He nodded his understanding. “I’ll be releasing a thing or two on Monday. I’ll let the others know we’ve got nothing to worry about with Elizabeth.”

He nodded his head tightly in acknowledgment, waiting for the journalist to move.

He made his way past Red, stopping at the open French doors of the balcony and turning back around.

“Stockholm Syndrome,” he said briefly.

“Excuse me?”

“Her situation. I said I had a good handle on it.” And with that he disappeared into the main room.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking FilmsareFriends for beta'ing and NeedTheDark for helping me wrestle with this chapter
> 
> Disclaimed

 

* * *

 

It was uncomfortable for Lizzie, being left alone to mingle, and every time she tried, people made way for her like they were zebras fleeing a lion. It was personal, she thought disgruntledly. Thus, she was surprised to notice a petite woman with thick, silky, brunette hair approach. Her dark brown, long lashed eyes were huge, accentuated with just the right amount of kohl, giving her an exotic appearance. She swallowed as the woman approached her.

“Elizabeth? I’m Elena. Your master wants you. I was sent to bring you to him.” She smiled warmly, holding her hand out.

Lizzie blinked at the description of Red. This could take some getting used to. She realized she hadn’t responded to Elena’s overture.

“Oh, right, yes, that’s me,” she said, taking the brunette’s slim hand in her own to shake it. She didn't let go, instead folding her other hand over Lizzie’s and stroking it. It was unnerving. And it sent an oddly pleasant shiver down her back.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “So, just...lead the way then.”

Elena’s smile deepened. She turned, still holding Lizzie's hand and threaded her way through the crowd.

They made their way down two flights of stairs to a floor that Lizzie privately suspected was underground and into a room that would have been about as big as the living room in one of Red’s larger, borrowed safe houses. It was a comfortable size but spacious enough to hold a number of chairs around the walls leaving plenty of play space in the middle of the room.

Lizzie was struck immediately by the cages suspended from the ceiling. They looked like oversized gilded bird cages. It gave the room an odd, Alice in Wonderland vibe. There were two massage tables in the middle of the room a few feet apart. Her wide eyed gaze moved to the far wall. A St. Andrew's Cross stood there, imposing itself over the rest of the furniture and next to it sat what looked like a dentist chair or perhaps a gynecologist's chair.

Her stomach tightened. She reminded herself that Red had said that he only wanted to learn how to cane tonight. He would have told her if he had other plans. Wouldn’t he?

Her eyes turned to the people in the room.  A man, dressed in black jeans and a black button down shirt, appearing to be in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair and movie star skin stood next to a sofa where two women sat. One a brunette, the other, her hair dyed a bright, unnatural red. Both women were corseted within an inch of their lives. It looked painful. But they didn’t sit on the sofa or look in her direction like they were submissives. They both seemed relaxed, owning the space around them, watching her with gleaming, interested eyes.

And then there was Red. He was over in the corner quietly talking with another man. He’d taken his jacket off and pulled it over a nearby chair. He looked up at that moment and winked at her.

Everything was going to be okay.

The room had quieted as they made their entrance. Elena stood next to her, still holding her hand, her legs slightly apart, her shoulders back and her head tilted down, gaze fixed on the floor.

The man all in black approached them. His eyes caressing Elena's graceful form. He reached a hand out to cup her chin, pulling her focus from the floor to his face. He smiled. It wasn't even a smile for her, but Lizzie's breath hitched. This man _possessed_ the woman standing next to her. Perhaps they possessed each other, she thought. There was love and trust and pride falling off of him in waves as he looked at her.

She felt a deep wrench of longing, of envy. She wanted that with Red. She'd give him everything, if he'd just trust her.

The man turned to Lizzie just as Red was approaching to stand beside him. He studied her. She blanched under his contemplative eye. He turned to Red.

"We can begin now if you'd like?" Philippe offered in softly accented English.

"Nothing would please me more," he rejoined gaily. "Philippe, I'd like to introduce Elizabeth to you."

Philippe inclined his head. She smiled back at him awkwardly, feeling out of her depth, a bundle of nerves. What if she misstepped? Offended someone? She felt ungainly and raw compared to the graceful and lovely Elena.

“Elena, please show Elizabeth,” he indicated to the the center of the room. Elena led her over, still holding her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Turn around, I’ll help you with your zipper,” Elena offered.

It was then that she realized that she would be stripped in front of five strangers. She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned around. It wasn't so bad really. It was just skin. She could handle this.

Elena had unzipped her dress, turning for Lizzie to assist her with her own. Both women folded their clothing, Lizzie following Elena’s lead, placing the pretty dresses, underwear and the collar and leash to the side.

They stood side by side. The temperature of the room was perfectly controlled for nudity but she was inclined to shiver anyway.

Philippe approached them again, this time running his hands over Elena’s body. “It is important, Raymond, to ensure you are familiar with your submissive’s skin. Is it too dry? Papery thin? Are there unhealed wounds? It must all be considered before you begin to play.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Philippe had now moved behind Elena and was firmly rubbing her shoulders.

“A simple massage is the best way to establish trust, to relax your submissive, to familiarize her with your touch, should she be new to you.”

He stopped massaging Elena and moved towards her.

“May I touch?” He asked, his hand hovering over her breast.

She looked up, about to politely but firmly deny him when she realized with an awful shock that he was looking at Red. Asking Red. She stiffened, angling her head slightly, not to look at him but to hear his answer.

“You may.”

Outrage pierced her. Her head swam.

She barely felt Philippe's smooth hands lightly touch her breast, moving to her shoulders, rubbing down muscles she didn't even realize were tight. She only heard snippets of his explanations and exhortations to Red as they discussed correct techniques and the best type of cane to be used.

She was dazed but she heard Phillippe instruct both of them, her and Elena, to climb onto a massage table. She stumbled over, climbing into place.

“I prefer to have my sub lying flat, but higher than the floor. A table is ideal, yes? Standing up is not so much. Bending over furniture, even worse. The idea is to allow your submissive to seek new sensations, to learn the limits of her ability to sustain them. You do not wish for delicate skin,” at this he ran a hand over Elena’s bottom, “to be stretched too tight, easier to break, easier to damage.”

This man’s voice was soothing. Almost as hypnotic as Red’s. She felt herself drift a little, until he came up beside her.

What had he been talking to Red about? Red had murmured a question but she hadn't heard the answer.

He had moved away again and now Red was beside her. He placed his hands on her back, drumming his fingers lightly up and down her spine. The sensation was pleasant, made all the more so because it was Red touching her.

One hand strayed to her hair, stroking softly and then she felt the lightest of taps with a cane.

If she was honest, she’d been expecting some sort of torturous endurance test. But _this_ , it was like butterflies against her skin. He was playing with her, warming her skin only. There was no rhythm, no beat to anticipate, each light flurry of strokes landing across her bottom and legs, traveling right through her body, thrilling her.

He was increasing the tempo and then slowing it down. Increasing the strength of his swing and then lightening it again. She felt her breath coming harder and deeper as the sting and the spreading warmth of the aftermath of each stroke affected her.

She could hear the thwack of another cane against Elena’s skin. The two men were playing percussion together.

She shifted her hips slightly and she heard Phillippe ask Red to stop.

“Elizabeth,” called Phillippe from over the tables. “You are learning too, yes? You must be still or else you could find the wrong part of your body at the mercy of the cane.”

Red began again, starting with the lightest of taps, a whirl of small strokes, closely timed together. Then a gentle thud. The strength of his swing increased slightly. She felt a building of something in her chest. She didn't recognize what she was feeling, it was so new. A struggle against becoming swept away perhaps?

She felt groggy, her limbs heavy, her skin flushed and tingling. So warm and carefree, she was tightly cocooned and at the same time, not. She felt as though she were floating on the crest of a wave. How could so many conflicting thoughts and feelings coexist in her chest? She didn't try to explore the thought further. Just drifting...

Thud.

Her eyes closed.

Thud.

The shapes and colors appearing behind her eyes coalesced into a starscape.

Thud.

Tears gathered. Oceans of tears, swimming through them.

Thud.

Peeling away layers of hurt and regret. Had she ever been in a fire? No, this was a fire, cleansing, painfully beautiful, real.

Thud.

 

* * *

 

"Elizabeth?" A hand caressing her cheek. Had she been asleep?

She blinked, the room around her coming into focus. She was still on the table. Her body trembled.

She moved her head to the side, catching sight of Red standing back, looking at her with such an expression. She'd never seen him look that way before. She couldn't decipher it.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You weren't asleep, Elizabeth," Phillippe chuckled. "At least, not likely from those little noises you were making."

She flushed. Had she embarrassed herself?

"No need to be shy. That was lovely.” He turned to Red. “Raymond, what does your aftercare consist of?”

Red’s eyes flickered back to her still form on the table. “I stay close, hold her.”

Philippe nodded, turning to pick up two light blankets from a basket. He handed one to Red. “Temperature is important of course. She will most likely feel cold, even in a warm room.”

He wrapped the other blanket around Elena, who was sitting up on the table now. Lizzie watched as he enveloped his sub in his arms, blanket and all, his attention completely absorbed in her.

 

* * *

 

She was led away by Red. Phillippe had offered them a room. He’d said it was so that Red could help her back into her dress and settle her down. Why did he say that? She felt so floaty, so tetherless, not unsettled at all.

She stumbled into the dress, her fine motor skills taking a complete leave of absence. He’d had to dress her like a doll. She snuggled into his chest afterwards. All of her walls, all of her boundaries broken and fallen into dust.

And then an odd moment of clarity.

"You let him...you let someone else touch me,” she threw at him accusingly.

His fingers closed around her arm, biting into her flesh. He pinned her up against a wall, burying his face in her neck. “I did, didn't I? That was an interesting experiment. I didn't like it.”

“Neither did I,” she returned breathlessly.

“I’m going to take you home soon,” he murmured, his lips brushing along her jaw. “I need to speak to someone before we go. It shouldn't take long. Go upstairs and mingle for a moment. I’ll be back soon.”

She sighed wearily. “You’re lucky I’m so off the planet at the moment. I’d have something to say about asking me again to talk to people who look at me like I’m a piranha that's going to eat them.”

He captured her lips in a bruising kiss. “Go and mingle. You were magnificent.”

She looked wistfully after his retreating back.

 

* * *

 

Trying to acclimatize to a party atmosphere, no matter how muted the revelry, wasn't easy. Grateful now that she was largely being ignored, she retreated to a semi darkened hall to examine a painting. Her mind still buzzed with endorphins and her bottom and legs stung so fiercely, she could almost feel it at her centre.

She felt a hand at her shoulder. She turned into the smiling face of a silver-haired, leathery-faced old man.

"Well aren't you just the spitting image of your mother with that pretty blonde hair," he said.

She blinked. Whoever he was, he wasn't pulling any punches.

She cleared her throat. "Well, I never knew her actually so..."

He chuckled softly. "That's probably just as well. I think she'd be rolling in her grave now if she saw you on your belly for Raymond Reddington."

"What?" She asked sharply

He gently drew her away from the party. "Goodness, the things I could tell you. Shall we go for a walk?"

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimed

* * *

 

She fell back into the pillows, arching her back, hooking both legs over his shoulders.

He reached for her hips, pulling her closer, stroking the soft skin of her upper thigh all the way to her ankles. He was breathing hard. God, she was so good, so wonderful. She had been magnificent tonight.

He turned his head to kiss her inner ankle, wrapped around his neck.

"Is this how you liked to fuck my mother, Red?" came her voice, jolting him out of his dreaminess.

He froze, wrapping a hand around her foot.

"What?"

"Did she like her legs over your shoulders on the bed? Did she like it even harder than I do? Did she prefer it on the floor on her hands and kne-"

He slapped her, full on the face with his open hand.

'"You...you _jade_ ," he whispered.

His hand had left a red mark across her cheek. She blinked at him in shock.

He gripped her hips, wrenching her towards him, thrusting himself inside of her in one smooth movement. She cried out, lifting her hips to meet him.

"Oh fuck, Red. She must have liked it rough then," she gasped.

"Shut up," he rasped. "Shut up, you _little viper_."

He slapped her again. This time she reacted, tears leaking from her wide open eyes. Her mother's eyes.

"Again," she begged unsteadily.

He ignored her, slamming himself into her, digging his fingers painfully into the flesh of her thighs.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her face contorted with passion. "Do it again!" She choked out.

Fury engulfed him. He pushed her back down onto the bed, withdrawing himself from her, desperately seeking distance. He was shaking, pacing the floor, clenching his fists. How dare she. Who had told her that? How DARE she?

She propped herself up on her elbow, lying draped in sheets across the bed. Her eyes followed him back and forth across the room, her face hard.

"That is _not_...I don’t...owe you that," he said hoarsely.

Her nose wrinkled at him, as though she had smelt something offensive. "You owed me this the first time you put your hands between my legs."

His head snapped around to look at her. "I'm tiring very quickly of your crude mouth, Elizabeth."

She raised herself up furiously on her hands, the sheets falling down around her, revealing her lovely body to him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she spat slowly and deliberately.

He moved towards her so quickly, she didn't have time to be alarmed. His lips were pulled back in a sneer. He reached for her, pulling her into a headlock, his hand tangled in her hair.

“You,” he said tightly, “are going to learn some _manners_.”

“Get off me,” she whined, struggling half halfheartedly.

He stopped, feeling her writhing against him for what it was. She _wanted_ this, in the same way she’d wanted him to slap her just before.

This was not...what their relationship was about, he thought with some difficulty.

It didn't matter. She needed to give him her safe word. Or she was getting her mouth washed out with soap.

He hauled her into the bathroom, closing the door with a bang. He let her go and leaned against the door to catch his breath but she was up against him, hammering into his chest. He caught her wrists, forcing her away from him and bending her over into the sink. He grabbed a bar of soap and forced it past her lips.

She grit her teeth against him. He grunted in frustration.

“Open up, Lizzie.”

She shook her head.

“You could always use your safe word,” he said, his voice low and deceptively calm.

She shook her head again.

“Give me your safe word, Lizzie. It's all you have to do," he crooned.

He squeezed her jaw, wiggling a finger between her teeth. She bit him.

“Ouch!” He roared. But she’d opened her mouth. He shoved the soap the rest of the way in.

She spluttered and spat, glaring at him all the while, tears of humiliation rolling down her face.

He held her to his chest, sinking to the bathroom floor, his whole body shaking. She wanted this, she would have given him her safe word otherwise. How could she want this?

She threw herself on him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, probing, sucking on his tongue. He turned his head away, revolted by the taste of soap. Her mouth followed his, trying to capture his lips again.

“It doesn't taste so nice does it, Red,” she murmured into his ear.

His face twitched, “You deserved it.”

"I _deserve_ to know what was between you and my mother."

"You want me to show you?" He said nastily, pulling her over his lap.

She mewled at him as though he hadn't just slapped her in anger, ground herself against him as though he hadn't just punished her in the most degrading way he could possibly think of.

He felt himself sliding down a rabbit hole. Just falling, falling. When had it become somehow right to him to touch her in anger? She had gotten so far under his skin, he wasn't sure he cared now how far he had to push her to reach her inner walls.

He blinked, his hand already hovering over her. He had to stop. He would tell her. Some of it. He’d buried it deep, unable to even examine his actions in his own head.

How could he have known all those years ago that he would have this? With her? That his actions back then could sink him now. Just when happiness was so near to him.

His stomach clenched. “Lizzie,” he said, a defeated undertone to his voice. “Let me hold you.”

She turned her head to look at him, a myriad of questions in her eyes. But she pulled herself up and into his lap, letting him put his arms around her.

And he told her. The words came slowly at first, as though he were learning to speak anew. Reluctantly he laid it out for her.

Her mother had defected from Russia to offer safety to her small daughter.

He had been her mother’s handler when she’d arrived on U.S. soil, squalling baby in tow. She had been the most manipulative double agent he had ever met, leading him through so many twists and turns that he was barely sure which side he was on toward the end.

He’d been her handler yes. But she’d been his dominant. He wasn't even sure how it had happened. A case involving former KGB agents with exotic proclivities. An opportunity for her to twist him around her little finger.

“Did you love her?”

Of course she’d asked. He couldn't understand why he hadn't had an answer prepared. But his tongue felt big in his mouth when she asked the question.

He hadn't loved her mother, But he had let himself lose his way as her handler and they had both paid for it.

As had Lizzie.

She hadn't believed him. Her doubt was blindingly apparent in her face. And if he’d been able to tell her everything, she might have believed him. But he couldn't. For her safety, for her sanity.

Never mind his own.

“Lizzie,” He struggled with this next bit. “We weren’t intimate...in that sense.”

She drew back to look at him. “What does that even mean? You just said you were her submissive. How can you not have been intimate?”

“Oh, we were intimate. Just not in the role of lovers. She never took me to bed.”

He hesitated, observing her wince.

“She liked to cause pain. She wasn't interested in sex. Just power and the pain she could inflict.”

As soon as he said it he clamped his arms around her, correctly anticipating her fury.

“Let me go! I don't want to hear anymore.”

“No. That’s it. That's all of what you wanted to know. The worst is over, Lizzie.” He held her tightly as she fell limp against him, dampening his chest hair with her tears.

“So this is revenge,” she whispered against his chest.

He held her tighter to him. “No, never think that,” he protested, shocked at her words.

“You made me love you. I’ve done things for you…” she broke off, a fresh bout of weeping consuming her.

His mouth went dry. She loved him. This volatile woman with her mother’s eyes, her foster father’s heart. She loved him.

His heart felt like it was bursting through his chest. He had an irrational urge to call Dembe, call Kate, call everyone and tell them about her. Tell them he was renewed. He had a different purpose now. He could be more. She loved him.

He took a large, steadying breath, ready to pour his love into her with adoring words when his head shot up at a violent banging on the front door of the apartment, echoing through the walls. She stiffened in his arms, her sobs choked back to silence.

He firmly set her aside, his body alert and on guard.

“Pull some clothes on and go and hide in the wardrobe, just for the moment. Don't forget your weapon,” he said, all business again, moving to reach for his robe and leaving the bathroom swiftly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimed

* * *

 

He'd pulled his trousers and a shirt on and sped to the door.

Dembe had already beaten him there. He was talking in hushed tones to the head of his security detail at the front door.

They both looked up at his approach.

“Well?”

“You have twenty minutes if you want a head start. Agent Ressler arrived at Sofia airport moments ago with another team. He's coming to deal with you personally it seems,” Dembe offered his observations calmly.

Red shook his head, frustrated. The man was a tack in his shoe. He should have anticipated this. You don't get close to a person for years without learning things about them. Ressler might be a cookie cutout of an FBI agent but he'd been taking notes these past two years and he knew things he hadn't before. Something would need to be done.

He turned around, knowing from the look on Dembe’s face, that he would find Lizzie behind him.

She was dressed, weapon in hand.

“Whats going on?”

“Your former partner is very confident he’ll be successful in capturing you today,” he said irritably, putting his gun away.

He nodded at her. "Get your things. We're leaving."

* * *

 

“No,” she said stonily.

They'd only just arrived at their newest bolt hole. He'd barely had time to organize this but it had to be done.

He sighed, irritated. “Lizz-”

“Omaha”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Omaha. I’m not doing this. It’s not his fault. I’m not dragging Don into this. You are not using me as _bait_ to hurt him. You could kill him."

“I wasn't aware that we were...playing, right now.”

“When are we not playing? That's what this is, right? Everything I do, every expectation you have of me, isn’t it... _hasn't_ it been part of our game?”

“You’ve never complained,” he bit back.

“You’ve never asked me to betray a friend before!”

“He’s not a friend anymore. He’s the man standing between you and freedom if we don't do something about him. He keeps getting too close and I will _not_ permit myself or _you_ , to be captured.”

Her head lowered like a bull preparing to charge. Her brow knit together, her eyes darkened alarmingly. She crossed her arms, her whole body closing off to him.

And it was like she’d tossed herself bleeding into the sea with a shark in sight. He rose from his seat, eyes glittering, lips pressed thinly together. He took a step towards her and stopped. He was across the room from her but she shied away all the same.

“I’ve already made the arrangements. It's too late to change anything now," he said bluntly.

“You - You, what? When were you going to tell me? No, I’m stopping this now.” she made a dash for the door but he was nearer. He blocked her.

“Get out of the way!”

He bared his teeth. “No.”

Not even thinking, on pure instinct borne of fury and fear, she struck out at him, closed fisted. He caught her arm, twisting her wrist painfully. Using the wrist lock, he forced her to the floor, following her down. He used her attempt to scramble away to flip her onto her stomach and knelt on her legs, struggling to keep her in place.

“Get off me!”

“Lie still!”

“Red, you’re scaring me!”

He had one hand on the small of her back as he flicked his belt buckle open with the other, drawing the belt from his waist.

“You _willful_ , contrary little-”

“Stop it! Please-”

“I’m trying to _protect_ you.”

“Oh really? Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Yes!”

He looped the belt in half and struck, giving all of his strength into the swing.The belt snapped against her buttocks. She screamed in pain and anger. He struck again, with appalling force. She was sobbing now, too shocked to struggle, tears streaming down her face.

Spinning out of control, he knew he was shattering this fragile thing that he had with her. But he couldn't stop. She’d give her safe word to keep Donald Ressler from harm at her own expense, would she? But she wouldn't give it to him. She’d let him do as he liked then?

Well, he would.

He knew it was unfair, but he hated her in that moment. She could stop him, if she would just give him her safe word, he could stop. But she wouldn’t. She knew he wanted it and she deliberately withheld it. Time and time again.

Bruises were blossoming already with each blow. His arms shook with every stripe across her flesh. His breath was coming in gasping half sobs and a dawning horror was washing over him. He threw the belt from himself, reaching out to cradle her, sanity catching up too late.

“Lizzie, Lizzie, please,” he cried out, his voice all jagged edges. And the tidal wave of his furious, sickening jealousy, his driving lust to possess her, had left him as suddenly as it had come. She hadn’t given him that last thing that he wanted from her and now she never would. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, desperately and selfishly seeking comfort from her. He kissed her sweat dampened hair, caressing her face, pleading for her to speak with him, to forgive him for the unforgivable.

She lay quietly in her shock and pain. And something perverse and wild and furious rose in her breast. How _dare_ he? How dare he seek to kiss her, to hold her after this? She didn't want his kisses and she’d be damned if she’d submit to them.

“Omaha,” she croaked in a pained whisper.

“Lizzie?”

“Don’t touch me.”

His hands jerked from her hair, mid caress.


	15. Chapter 15

She couldn't cry. She tried. She looked in the mirror, and willed herself to cry. Wouldn't it be easier? Get it over with now before she left. Her bag was packed and sitting on a chair, just waiting for her to pick it up. She had all the time in the world. She would be too late to help Ressler. There was nothing of use that she could do for anyone, not even herself.

No tears today then. Well, there was no reason to delay.

She grabbed her bag and quietly moved down the hall to the front door. She didn't want to say goodbye. What more was there to say?

She tried the door handle. It wouldn't move. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She had a security card for the door but had never needed it to go out before, only to go in. She tried swiping it anyway. Nothing, no beeps indicating the security system was letting her out, no turn of the door handle. A cold tendril of fear slithered its way down her spine.

She marched down the hall again into the living room, clutching her bag to her chest. He was seated in an armchair, working his way through a bottle of scotch.

“I can't get out the front door.”

“Yes,” he said, not looking at her. He examined his crystal glass as the last rays of afternoon sun speared through it from the open window, making the amber liquid sparkle like ambrosia. 

“Open it.”

“No." His voice was deep and low and brooked no opposition.

“Red, you said before that you wouldn't stop me. I want to go now. I’m leaving. This is finished, you and me.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, closed mouthed, pursing his lips slightly, still examining the glass that he held in his hand. He said nothing.

She blew air out through her nose, frustrated. Accepting that he was playing some silly game now, she went to the window, leaning her whole upper body out. They were thirty two stories high. She went from window to window throughout the place, not really expecting a way out but making a point to Red. She was going to leave.

She arrived back where she started after going on a tour throughout the apartment, even having gone so far as to open the tiny window above the toilet and poke her head out.

“Let me go.”

He looked up this time. “You’re staying. You are not safe by yourself.”

“I’m not safe from you, Red.”

A frown appeared on his face, his eyebrows drew together slightly and his lips flattened. “Disobedient as ever, Lizzie. That’s nothing new.”

She was getting nervous now. He didn't seem himself. She’d seen him frustrated before but this version of Red wasn't familiar to her at all. It was starting to frighten her.

She said the only thing she could think of, the only thing she had left in her arsenal. “Omaha.”

His eyes flashed at that and he leaned forward in the armchair. “If you can't use a safe word appropriately, you don't _get_ one, Lizzie,” he roared.

Stunned silence met his loud proclamation. She stood there, her bag forgotten on the floor, a horrified expression on her face.

“That’s nuts,” she whispered. “You don't mean that.”

“In fact, I do. As of now, you no longer have a safe word. You will be staying here and you will get used to it, do you understand?”

His words were spoken with his usual polish, the cadence of his voice hypnotic. She had become so used to longing to please him that she almost found herself nodding along to his demands.

But this was insane. He had no reason to hold her prisoner and certainly no right to take her safe word from her.

“I’ll take your security Red, and whatever other protections you think are advisable. But you need to let me out now,” she offered in her best reasonable adult voice.

He ignored her words. “I’d like to be alone for the moment. You can wait in our bedroom. I’ll come for you when I'm ready.”

“You’re drunk,” she shot at him, disgusted. She flounced out of the room, scooping up her bag and deliberately walking into the spare room, shutting the door behind her.

Maybe he’d be more reasonable in the morning. And hopefully ashamed of his behaviour. **  
**

* * *

****

She kicked out at a strange feeling around her ankle. Still mostly asleep, she confusedly tried to turn over to see what was holding her. Had she gotten herself tangled in the sheets?

And then her other ankle was being drawn down the bed. She lifted herself up, unable to see anything in the dark, her brain still sluggish with sleep. A shadow appeared at her bedside. She yelped and he was on top of her, forcing her arms above her head. She heard the clink of metal cuffs and jerked her arms to no avail. He’d cuffed her, spread eagle to the bed.

“I told you to wait in our bedroom,” a low voice hissed in her ear.

“Red,” she choked out, horrified and confused.

“If you can't obey me in the little things Lizzie, how do you expect me to trust you with the bigger things?”

“Turn the lamp on, I can't see, and let me go! I’m not doing this. Are you still drunk?”

But he wasn’t. He’d showered, shaved and cleaned his teeth. He smelled just like himself. To her, the smell was heaven. But it wasn't enough to dispel the fear settling into her gut at this moment.

He’d pulled her pyjama pants off while she’d been asleep. She felt her legs trembling, cold and exposed, tied down securely on the bed.

He was fumbling now. What was he doing?

“Oh Red, no, please, I don’t want to, not anymore,” she gasped as he covered her with his body.

“I’ll be gentle tonight, Lizzie,” he whispered. “I know you’re sore.”

“No, no,” she begged, her voice growing higher and higher. “Omaha!" She screamed as he plunged into her.

“Shhh shhh, no more of that, sweetheart.”

She wept as he took his pleasure from her. Wept as he gently cleaned his seed from between her legs, wept as he kissed her unresisting lips and stroked her hair.

"Lizzie, I love you."

"Mine, Lizzie, you're mine."

* * *

 

**18 months later** ~ **  
**

She knelt on scattered cushions at his feet, head bowed, hands clasped in front of herself. His own hands were in her hair, tousling playfully. He was brilliant as ever, a criminal mastermind leading the intelligence forces of the whole world a merry dance. But when it came to her, he was strangely obtuse. Obsessed, Dembe and Kate thought quietly, pityingly.

She moaned as the sound of a cane came whistling through the air, smacking against her flesh.

"One," she whispered.

She'd been so sure that Dembe would interfere. Surely he wouldn't let this go on? She'd begged him, right in front of Red, to help her. He'd flinched but turned away, giving way to his employer, as always, despite his private misgivings.

The cane whistled through the air again.

“Two.”

His hands roamed the thin reddened lines he’d just left on her.

“Lizzie,” his voice was dark, thick with desire. “Tell me why I do this.”

“Because I’m yours, and it's your pleasure,” she whispered the lesson she’d learnt by heart.

Again, the ominous swish through the air, the futile attempt to relax her body. The thud of the cane as it met her flesh.

“Three.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“That’s right. Mine,” he growled.

She blurred her thoughts, vacating her own head, drifting far enough to disconnect herself, not from the pain, but from him. There was very little space inside her now that wasn't his. But she nursed that which was free from him.

She was Rapunzel, the girl shut up in the tower. She was Persephone, the daughter, dragged down into the depths.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i’ll explain.
> 
> What started as a kinky smut fic soon twisted out of my hands and began to serve as an outlet for my own issues surrounding obsession, abandonment and mental health.
> 
> I took elements of Red, the part of him that killed Sam, the part of him that hired a man to be in Lizzie's life, and I magnified them.
> 
> I think the seeds of many different actions and behaviours lie inside of us. We whisper what if so often to ourselves. I appreciate that fan fiction allows us to explore those what ifs safely.
> 
> I hope my trigger warnings were sufficient for those who needed them.
> 
> I want to thank FilmsareFriends for beta'ing this despite the content being difficult.
> 
> Thank you to NeedTheDark and MinP1072 for being a confidante and sounding board and for encouraging me to keep going.


End file.
